


Six Shots

by Foxx_in_soxx



Series: Six Shots: The Story Of Sentinel Island [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Sex, Armin and Jean are brothers, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bodyguard Levi, Boys' Love, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Doctor Erwin Smith, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guns, Handcuffs, Italian Mafia, Light BDSM, M/M, Mafia Eren, Mafia Marco, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Shameless Smut, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Smut, Switching, Yakuza Armin, Yakuza Jean, Yaoi, lots of ships, quick to update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxx_in_soxx/pseuds/Foxx_in_soxx
Summary: Sentinel island is a cesspool of crime, filth and criminal activities.There has always been unrest between the four main crime families, The Bodts, The Jaegers, The Kirschtein-Hiewajimas, and the Petrovs.Armin and Jean Kirschtein are the headstrong, determined sons of the Yakuza group leader, and all they have ever wanted was to get out of the city. Their lives are about to be turned upside down as they're they suddenly become the center everything in Sentinel.





	1. The Twins

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Six Shots awhile ago and am not sure why I didn't post it. I thought it would be a good time to dust it off. I'll get back to posting on my new developing fics once things even out in my life, there is still a lot going on and I want to be in good headspace before writing new material on MMOTK and whatnot. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and understanding.

"Brother." The smaller blonde whispered, "Is this it? Is this the end for us?" 

The two twins looked absolutely nothing alike, it was tough to even call them twins, except that they were, in fact, born one right after the other on the same day.

The blonde twin was slender and petite, with soft pink lips, a button nose, and a heart shaped jawline that sloped softly down to a small chin. His blonde hair was tied up in a top knot, a choppy fringe falling in front of cold, calculating, crystal blue eyes.

The second twin's features were sharper and more masculine, he had a larger nose, broader chin, and sandy colored hair paired with fiery jade eyes. 

They were dressed in Japenese ceremonial wear, the taller, more masculine in a three piece suit, and the smaller blonde in a flowered kimono, with a thick satin belt tied in a bow in the back, the top parted, his chest wrapped in the traditional fashion. There was a branch of cherry blossoms stuck in his top knot, and they both wore light eyeliner to accentuate their features. 

“Like hell.” The taller man answered, his eyebrows furrowing. “We’ll never go down like this. Not us. We are strong. Not dogs to be collared. He took one hand and gently placed it on the blonde's chin. “After all we’ve been through, thing won’t end like this for us. We’ll fight though this, like we always have. If we die, we die with our honor intact.” 

“I won't be separated from you, brother.” the blonde said determinedly.

“We’ll always be together, we’ll never truly be apart, we're always connected. We'll be fine, Armin. We'll make it through this. Together. Like we always do.”

The smaller man lowered his chin, steeling his gaze. “Okay, Jean." 

The taller man gave a curt nod. "Okay."

Armin produced a pistol from the back of his kimono, showing it to his brother, before he slid it back in, concealed under the large ornate bow.

“Six shots. Faire alors en vaut la peine.” he murmured, as he reached in to give Jean's hand a squeeze.

“I will." Jean responded. "I’ll make them worth it.” 

\--

This is a new low, even for the Heiwajima Group.” The tall, blonde man stood, looking at the mounted TV in the hotel lobby, speaking to a short, lean man beside him, with dark hair and a serious gaze, who stared at the TV, arms crossed.

The TV news anchor reported:  
"The well known Yakuza crime boss Takada Heiwajima of Sentinel Island has announced that at the auction today he will be auctioning off what he says to be is ‘two of his most worthless possessions’, referring to his 23 year old twins, Armin and Jean Kirschtein-Heiwajima." The news reporter shook her head as she continued her story.

"The twins were the the product of Takada Heiwajima's foreign love affair with French actress Miranda Kirschtein, who passed away 9 years ago of an unknown cause. More news as this story develops."

The blonde man shook his head, running his hand through his unkempt facial hair and straightening out his tailored grey suit. “Sentinel has always been a rough place. With all the mobs that carry on business there, it's a pretty lawless city, policed only by local Sentinel police force, put in place by one group or another. Everything the different groups do, the Bodts with the arms dealing, the Jaegers with the Gambling, the Heiwajimas with their drugs. Even the Petrovs with their Prostitution rings, you know its bad, but then you get over it. But there’s just something inherently evil about selling your own children as possessions.”

The man beside him gave a curt nod. “Its pretty messed up, the world we live in, Mike. I wouldn’t say it's surprising, least of all coming from Heiwajima. He always hated those twins, this is hardly the first terrible thing that he’s done to them. They’re so like their foreign mother and were never particularly interested in his drug running. They went to college, but instead of business or something useful like that, Jean studied Science and Armin studied Literature of some sort. He may feel like they've embarrassed him in front of the rest of the other groups, the two bastard twins not interested in taking part in their father’s business.”

Mike looked at him, his lips pursed, not saying anything. “Its a pity that Nile is missing, isn’t it, Levi?”

“Nile? Yes, although he was much older than they, he took good care of them and really watched out for them. He was a good man, unlike his father, but he’s been missing for a couple months now. When something’s gone that long in Sentinel, it's usually a bad sign.” Levi responded. 

The two watched the auction begin to unfold on TV. There was an ornately decorated room, full of all sorts of treasures from distant lands: idols, old books, weapons, scrolls, vases, large rugs, portraits. Standing silently next to each other on top of a block next to many other items, were the two twins. Their father was a famous man in Sentinel, and their faces were recognizable, but they looked very different on that day. Both of them were wearing makeup and dressed to the nines, their hands tied behind their back stiffly, both wearing impeccable poker faces. They watched older and younger men parade past and inspect the pair, who each had a lot number pinned to their hip. 

“I’m glad we’re not there today.” Levi murmured.

“Why?” Mike asked. 

“Because,” Levi smirked. “Those twins may look tame, and may have studied about how to fry ants and what the Hero’s journey was instead of how to sell drugs to kids, but trust me, they can pack a punch.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Watch and see.” Levi, motioned to the TV with his elbow. I’ve worked in Sentinel for a long time. They’re not ones to go down without a fight.”

\--

The auction had started. Scores of men gathered in the large room, the precious trophies from the famed Heiwajima home stood all over the room in display cases. Many of them belonged to Armin and Jean, items that they had brought back from their special travels, learning about people, about the world, and about the things that really mattered. They both were regretting returning to Sentinel. They should have stayed on the outside. 

'After today, if we survive this, I’m taking Mom’s last name and we’re leaving Sentinel. We’ll make a brand new life, away from here, and forget all this ever happened. I swear.' That was the promise Armin made to himself and to Jean. This wasn’t the end. Not today, this was the beginning. He wished he could reach over and grab Jean’s hand, but they were handcuffed behind his back, the number 34 attached to his hip, the number 35 attached to Jean’s.

His blue orbs scanned the crowd, many beady, familiar eyes looking back at him hungrily.

All the groups were represented here. Bodt, Jaeger, Petrov, and of course, Heiwajima. There were also various familiar faces from the community. Policemen, governors, businessmen, anyone with a deep pocket was welcome, money was money, and this was Sentinel, no one was actually going to burst in and arrest the crime lord Takada Heiwajima for human trafficking. Not in Sentinel. 

The auction started. The auctioneer droned on, while Armin’s stomach felt sicker. He and Jean were the best team, but this was not exactly a conventional plan, and if it fell through, this was all there was for them. This was the end. 

He heard the number 30 get auctioned off, then 31, a typical Ming vase. 32 was an old, unique book of spells and potions they had bought from a witch doctor in Africa, mostly for a laugh between the two, with potions using things such as crows liver, virgin’s eye, cat’s skin. Needless to say, they had never gotten to try any of them.  
Lot 33 was a large Persian rug, straight from Persia, embroidered with large elephants, dancing women, hand stitched and braided with tassels, decorated in beautiful colors of dark blue, turquoise and maroon. Armin wondered if his father had put their favorite things right before them in the auction just to taunt them. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what happened right now.

The two of them got drug up on stage not too gently, a man escorting them by their shoulders until they stood front and center by the auctioneer. 

“Here, we have two unique items up for bid, they are selling separately today.” Armin clenched her teeth, something else he knew her father was doing just to hurt them. He would of course never want to keep them together, knowing how much they meant to each other.

“We have Armin Kirschtein-Heiwajima, age 23. He is very beautiful, a proficient cook, dancer and housekeeper and fluent in French, Italian, Spanish and German...”

'Lies...No one wants to eat my cooking, that's for damn sure, and I definitely have never spoken a word of German in my life...' Armin thought with an eye roll.

“...As well as exceptionally willing in bed, and that’s speaking from experience.” The auctioneer said in a lower voice, winking at the audience. A few men in the crowd chuckled, and Armin’s jaw literally dropped, then he let out a snort, as he looked over at the wiry, large nosed auctioneer with a patchy grey beard and receding hairline. 

The words flowed out of his mouth, being unable to stop them. “Ha, in your dreams, maybe.”

The room went deadly silent, except for Jean, who he could tell was biting on the inside of his lower lip, holding in the biggest laugh in history.

The silence continued, until there was a throat clearing from someone in the audience. Scanning the room looking for the noisemaker, her eyes met a dark-featured ruggedly handsome, but terrifying looking older man in a perfectly fitting black suit. 

Their father. 

The blonde's eyes narrowed as he stared him down, and the elder man returned his glare with a nasty sneer.

“As you can see, ha, he’s a little mouthy too, but I’m sure that can be disciplined right out of him.” The auctioneer said weakly, still recovering from his one sentence gut punch.

Murmurs in the crowd started to stir, and this got the auctioneer back on his game. 

“Should we start the bidding at 10,000?” He asked.

“Should hope to hell I’m worth more than that.” Armin mumbled.

The bidding got higher, and he heard the sound that he had been waiting for. A small, uncomfortable pop, followed by a slipping noise, as he felt the gun being slipped out of the back of his kimono.

He didn’t turn or make any movement at all, but he knew that this was the moment they had been waiting for. His heart leaped up into his chest.

“1.3 million?” The auctioneer called from the podium, to have a sign raised from the audience. He recognized the face, the head of the Jaeger family, Grisha. What did he want?

“Do we have higher than 1.3, do I have 1.35?” Another sign went up in the audience, a thick man that reminded him simply of Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars. 'Perfect. Just my luck.' He thought.

The fat man lifted his sign, and after being acknowledged by the auctioneer, slipped it back down.

“1.4, then?” Grisha Jeager slipped his sign back up into the air. Armin squinted at him, but the man bidding wasn’t actually looking him over, he was looking only at the auctioneer, and occasionally at his wife, Carla, who was sitting next to him, dressed elegantly in a black dress with a wreath of pearls around her neck, whispering in his ear.

“Do we have a 1.5?” The Jabba the Hutt look alike raised his sign again, and Armin scowled as he gave him a slimy smile. 

“1.6?” The auctioneer asked, looking over at Grisha and Carla, but he shook his head in decline. 

“Going once, going twice, sold, to the Mayor of Sentinel, Melvin Pootier!”

A gross guy with a shitty name. Kill me now. 

The auctioneer banged his gavel once, then twice. On the third time, it started. The gun was out from behind Jean’s back, Armin could see where he had dislocated his thumb to slip out of his handcuffs. He turned his back to Jean slightly, and the taller man expertly shot the handcuff chain in the center, freeing him. Not two seconds later, he had slipped two knives out of the sleeves of his kimono. They were small, palm sized, and perfectly balanced for throwing. 

There were three consecutive shots. 

Bang, bang, ting.

The first went straight between the auctioneers eyes, dropping him to the floor. The second two were directed at their father, the first hit right in his chest, the second ricochet off of a metal vase his skilled bodyguard had grabbed and held up in front of them. 

The room was in chaos at the falling bodies, and men were pulling out their weapons and ducking for cover at the same time. The fifth bullet hit an advancing security guard in the throat, dropping him to the ground right in front of the stage and leaving a bloody mess on the stairs and expensive carpet. Jean and Armin began backing up, getting ready to make their escape through the back room as planned. 

Two bodyguards advanced on the pair, trying to contain the situation, but were met with the knives hidden in Armin’s palms. They sliced through their throats like butter, one after the other, instantly dropping the expert soldiers, and leaving enough of a distraction for them to run.

Running down a long hallway, decorated as ornately as the rest of the large ballroom, Armin tugged at the belt on his kimono, unwinding it as he ran, leaving the expensive material on the floor. He chased Jean, who was also stripping out of his tie and jacket, to where they had parked their vehicle. 

The blonde left the traditional white wrap around his chest, utilizing it as a temporary shirt. It left part of his back exposed, showing off part of his traditional Yakuza full back tattoo, which was of a roaring tiger surrounded in colorful flowers. His legs were clad in tight leather pants he had worn for this occasion, paired with black combat boots he had expertly hidden under his long kimono. 

Jean unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt to give him better range of movement and tucked the pistol in the back of his black pants. One shot left. 

Armin tucked his small knives in the top of his wrapped shirt and he and Jean burst through the back door. They could hear the swell of a crowd just around on the other side of the building, wondering what was happening, but they didn’t have time to give a speech. They hopped on Jean’s black and white Dukati, and listening it roar to life, they sped out of the parking lot.

The noise was heard by everyone, reporters and auction-goers, and they knew they would have pursuers in no time. 

\--

Mike and Levi stood watching the hotel TV monitors, their mouths slightly agape. 

“You’re right, I’m glad we weren’t there too.” Mike murmured, Levi nodding with a smirk. The news helicopter was following the black and white speedbike as it zipped in and out of traffic, cars honking angrily.

They saw the two on the bike talking to each other, then the blonde looking over his colorfully painted shoulder as if looking for pursuers. Steadying himself, he flipped around completely on the bike, leaning his back against Jean’s, pulling up the seat he was sitting on and dangerously standing while digging through the compartment underneath the seat.

He pulled out a few items, a larger handgun, but most importantly, matching aviator sunglasses for himself and his brother. They put them on, and as the helicopter got closer for a better view, they both looked up, and simultaneously gave the chopper the middle finger, followed by Armin cocking the gun determinedly, while staring at the camera. 

It looked like a scene out of a movie, the heroes who had just escaped captivity, killed some bad guys, and were getting ready for the last boss fight. 

This time, Mike let out an audible chuckle. “I guess you were right. They do pack a punch.”

“Yes, for once, someone’s bite is worse than their bark.”


	2. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back for chapter two. 
> 
> I should be updating SS pretty regularly, since I already have it written I just have to edit and post. 
> 
> Hope you love it, and I'll get back to MMOTK soon. 
> 
> As usual, thank you for the likes, comments and subscriptions, they make the writing worth it.

Armin sat with his back to Jean, dangerously holding onto the bike with just his legs. His blonde fringe and whispy strands falling from his top knot blew wildly in the wind as the bike accelerated through the city streets. He readied the large handgun between his small hands. 

Three men on motorcycles were seen nearby, following after them, zipping in and out of cars and pedestrians, gaining on the twins.

The pursuers didn’t look heavily armed, maybe opting more for wanting to capture the siblings rather than kill them immediately.  
There was still money to be made, after all. 

Armin aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger as he shot at the first persuer. The bullet dinged off the undercarriage of the closest man’s bike, and Armin uttered a curse word under his breath. 

The second shot hit his tire, causing the bike to spin out of control and crash into a nearby parking meter.

Pedestrians screamed and ran from the accident, looking around wildly at the chase taking place through the crowded streets. 

“We need to get out of town, Jean, people are going to get hurt!” Armin yelled at the driver, barely audible over the road noise.

His twin nodded, swerving off at a side street to find the closest road out of town.

Sentinel was an island, practically one large city over the whole land mass, but there were some quieter spaces in between the main city hubs, with large fields and open lakes for boating, fishing and camping. They were very nice locations, which partially served as “markers” for where one group’s territory ended, and another’s began.

Armin took the second biker out with a shot to the thigh. The third persuer was close enough to touch him as his bike pulled up along side their own, and he reached out, trying to pull the small blonde off the bike. 

Armin delivered a punishing blow to the man's face with the butt of his gun, crushing the enemy's nose, and causing his bike to swivel off into a car on the side of the road.

\-- 

Mike and Levi, stall watching the show on TV, stood by with bated breath, Mike chewing on his bottom lip in nervousness. “They can’t keep this up forever. Especially with that handgun. he only has, how many, nine shots left?” 

“Eight.” Levi hummed. “And, I don’t think that victory was necessarily the goal today. They knew they would be completely outmatched, and that they would be chased, and shot at, and unless they were both planning on today being their last day on earth, they had to know that it would end with them being rounded up eventually. Can’t run from every group on the island forever, especially since it is, you know, an island.”

“So then why’d they do it?” The thick blonde asked, scratching his beard in thought. 

“Out of principle.” the ravenette replied, narrowing his gaze. “Just as a statement. Like a wild horse, or a forest fire. Just to say, you’ll never break me. I’ll fight to the bitter end.”

“Wouldn't that just make things worse than submitting to their fate?” Mike asked, crossing his arms, now playing devil’s advocate. 

“In some ways, perhaps. Makes your life easier, going along with the flow. But in that case, you’re a slave. Not even in the literal sense, in the mental sense. And if you don’t fight that, well, then you’ll never be free.”

Mike smiled at his friend’s answer. “Too true. Well, we should be getting back. I suppose our group heads will need help mopping up this bloodbath.” 

“I guess so.” Levi responded with a smirk. 

\--

“How many shots do we have left?” Jean called back to Armin, as he turned down a clearer, calmer country road.

Pulling out the mag in his gun, the blonde looked it over. 

“Eight.” he yelled back, and the sandy-haired man nodded. “You’re doing great, keep holding on tight!”

“Don’t worry! I have thighs of steel!” the smaller man said, patting his leather-clad thigh. 

There was a gunshot, and a bullet tinged off of the metal bike a few inches in front of the smaller man's seat. 

Looking up, he saw two dark cars approaching quickly from behind them.

“Two cars, coming up fast!” The blonde warned his brother. 

Jean accelerated. The road in front of them was clear and straight, being more of a country road with large, golden and green fields on both sides. The open road gave them the ability to drive much faster, but gave them no cars or buildings to use as blockage. 

Armin returned fire. The first bullet embedded itself in the bulletproof glass of the windshield, and he knew there was no getting through the two inches of that. 

He then aimed for the man standing up out of the sunroof with the machine gun next, he would be the most trouble. 

He steadied the weapon and pulled the trigger, hitting the man at about waist height. The man disappeared inside of the car, and seconds later another man popped out to take his place.

The blonde wasn't sure how many enemies were inside the car, but knew he didn't have enough ammunition to pick them off each one by one. Instead, he aimed for the car’s tires. “Seven, six..." he counted, firing two shots, one missing, the second hitting their front left tire, causing the quickly moving car to swerve dangerously, then lose control and roll into the field to the left. 

The searing pain through the blonde's hip caught him dangerously off guard and he swayed, Jean reaching back to catch him with the side of his arm to prevent him from falling off the bike.

"You good?" His brother asked. 

"Yeah, don't worry about it." Armin responded. The blonde looked down, and crimson was beginning to awkwardly seep down the side of his leather pants, creeping through the hole that had appeared in his lower waist, directly above his left hip. He had been shot.

The other car had pulled up right behind them. and the man in the sunroof gave a satisfied smile at his hit, but the smile was shortly wiped off his face with a bullet between the eyes. 

“Five.” Armin whispered, leaning forward to steady himself, using Jean's back for balance.

Another bullet seared through his right shoulder, fiery pain burning through his whole body as he nearly dropped his weapon, but gripped it with both hands tightly, blood running down his bare arm. Not good. 

He popped off three more shots. The man on top of the car behind them flopped forward after taking a bullet to the chest, and the second two bullets took out the two front tires, causing the car to slide to a stop in a shower of sparks. 

“Are you okay?” Jean yelled.

“Yeah, totally fine!” the blonde yelled back. 'Just please don’t turn around.' He finished the thought in his head.

They took a sharp turn, and Armin saw another car in the distance, closing in on them. It was like a never ending chase. In a way, they had expected this, but for some reason, some part had told them they could get away. They could make it, together.

Up ahead was a familiar bridge. Armin had seen it before, far down below was a large lake they had gone fishing and swimming in as children. It was deep, cold and dark. 

“Don’t stop, Jean.” the smaller man instructed, as his brother raced toward the bridge. “Don’t stop, okay? Keep going, no matter what happens.” The blonde not so gracefully rolled off the back of the bike, and Jean slammed on his brakes, a cloud of dust rising up as he turned around, looking for the blonde. 

It was then that Jean saw his brother's wounds for the first time.

“Armin, no!” He yelled.

“Keep going, Jean!” the smaller man yelled in response as he picked himself up slowly, holding his shoulder as he made his way toward the side of the bridge. “This isn’t the end. It's the beginning. Je t’aime. Don't stop fighting.” He threw himself over the railing as he heard his name yelled one more time. 

'Please go, Jean.' He whispered to himself. 'Don’t look back.'


	3. Does Taking Back Sunday Play In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has a bit of a slow build because there are a lot of characters in this story.
> 
> Good smut comes to those who wait though!!
> 
> As usual thank you for your likes and comments.

Don’t let it go to your head  
Boys like you are a dime a dozen  
Boys like you are a dime a dozen she said  
You’re a touch overrated  
You’re a lush and I hate it  
But these grass stains on my knees they don’t mean a thing

'I like this song. Is this Taking Back Sunday? Why is Taking Back Sunday playing in hell? And why am I so cold?' 

Armin's eyes cracked open and he blinked, blearily, staring up at the clear, blue August sky. 

Maybe I should hate you for this  
I never really did ever quite get that part  
Maybe i should hate you for this  
Never really did ever quite get that part

A shape moved next to him, and instinctively Armin reached for the knife that should have been tucked in the top of his makeshift shirt. 

His arm didn’t make it up all the way through his intended reach before a white-hot pain shot through his entire body, a pained hiss escaping through his teeth. 

The shape was instantly over him, and he blinked more, his vision finally clearing, bringing into focus an insanely handsome, shirtless, dripping wet older man leaning over him. 

He was definitely dead. He had died. This was heaven. Everything about the man was large, his shoulders, his thighs, his soft, smooth hands gliding over Armin's shoulder, which was radiating massive amounts of pain. The small man shivered under the stranger's touch. 

The blonde's head lolled to the side, and he tried to take in the information about the scene around him. He realized a few things all at once: He was wet. He was naked. He was alive.

He was aboard a nice speedboat, only about 300 meters from a very high bridge. The memories suddenly came flooding back, and he wasn’t sure which question to ask first, so he started with the most pressing one. 

"Who are you?" Armin shivered out the inquiry, teeth chattering. 

The man's eyebrows furrowed as he continued to run his hands over Armin's body, which looked very petite next to the his own. "Please lie still, you’re about 16 seconds away from bleeding out.” He responded, not answering the question. 

Armin looked down at his body. His pants and been unbuttoned and slid lower on his legs in order to reach the wound on his hip. The hole had been neatly stitched up and covered with gauze, then wrapped tightly with what had formerly been his chest wrap. 

'Genius, actually.' Armin mused. 

The larger man was working quickly on Armin's shoulder wound, the stitches deep and painful, pulling his skin together as blood pooled beneath them on the deck. The smaller man clenched his jaw, furrowing his eyebrow as he fought against the pain. 

“I’m so sorry. I don't have any anesthetic." 

Armin grunted in response as the man tore off the end of the suture and worked on wrapping his shoulder with another section of what had been his shirt.

“Who are you?” Armin repeated his question, balling his fists and grinding his teeth as the pain radiated through him. 

The sun reflected off the man's sun-tanned shoulders, and he pushed his wet blonde hair out from in front of his cobalt eyes, while continuing to wrap Armin's injury, lifting him a gently. 

“And why are you helping me? Do you know who I am?” 

The larger man shrugged. “It doesn't particularly matter. It seemed like the right thing to do.” He gave the wounded man a soft smile. “My name is Erwin. I’m the Yaeger’s personal physician.”

Armin froze. “You should have just let me drown, Erwin.” he said after a bit, sitting up, dizzy from blood loss.

“I saw you fall off the bridge. When you didn’t come back up, I knew I couldn’t just leave you under to drown. It wasn’t until I pulled you up that I realized you were hurt. There’s no way I would stand by and not help when I’m capable of it.”

Armin shook his head. “You’re a good man, Erwin. You don’t belong in this city. Being a good person will get you killed. Haha, just look at me.” he said, working on standing, his legs wobbly.

Erwin hurried to stand, steadying the smaller man, and grabbing a long blue button up shirt on the ground.

“Please, you need to rest. You've lost a lot of blood.” He handed him the blue garment. “You can have my shirt since I turned yours into bandages.”

Armin smiled a little as he slipped the large shirt on, buttoning it delicately and pulling up his pants. “Thanks.” he murmured, The shirt went down a little past his thighs and it looked like he was wearing a nightgown. To the doctor, it was the most precious thing he had ever seen, but he didn't want to get murdered, so he kept the thought to himself. 

The shirt smelled of a spicy musk and warm sweat, and Armin shamelessly pulled the collar up to his face and sniffed it. “Smells good. I like it.” he murmured. 

Erwin nodded. 

Armin didn't stay in one place for long. He had his nose buried in Erwin's collar one moment, and the next he was hobbling toward the side of the boat. "Well, thanks for everything." He said, trying to climb overboard, but the doctor grabbed him gently with an arm around the waist. 

“Please don’t. Honestly, you will die.”

“Sorry for ruining all your hard work then. But I would rather die than have those bastards get their nasty hands on me.” He tried to wiggle out of Erwin's strong but firm grasp, but the larger man held him firmly. 

“Stop, okay?" Erwin said gently. "If you have to go, I’ll take you to the dock. I don't want you dying on my watch." He looked down at Armin, who met his gaze and gave him a timid nod. Erwin released him, gently setting him down on his bare feet. “Sorry about your shoes, also. I had to take them off when I dove in to save you. They were surprisingly weighty." 

“Thank you. Its fine, really. And you know, you shouldn't swim alone.” Armin murmured, reciting the old proverb.

“Yeah, well you should take your own advice on that one.” He smiled. “ I was out here with my friend Eren, but he had to take off a few minutes ago. I was just getting ready to wrap things up when you fell into my life. Literally.”

Erwin took the wheel and the speed boat roared to life. He drove them down a small channel, back around a peaceful waterway, until a small dock was in sight.

“The art on your back is amazing.” The larger blonde murmured. "I saw it when I took your shirt off. The tiger and sakura flowers are breathtaking." 

“Thank you. It's kind of a tradition. Everyone in the group has art like this. But I'm sure you know that." 

The doctor hummed in acknowledgment. "True. But yours looks truly beautiful on you." 

For some reason, Armin blushed. His cheeks reddened at the attention and he shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz. "Erhm, uh,...have you seen my gun?" 

Erwin smiled at the small, serious man's sudden blush. " Um, I think you may have lost it when you jumped. It would have gone straight to the bottom.” 

"Oh." Armin sighed quietly. “Oh well. There were only two shots left anyway.”

They pulled up to the dock, and Armin stumbled onto it, surprised that he could walk, despite the horrible pain in his side. Erwin climbed out after him, still shirtless, in black and white swim trunks with a familiar label on the thigh.

“Let me drive you somewhere. Like the hospital. Or home?” He said, pulling his keys from a snapping pocket on the side of his trunks.

“Really Erwin, thank you for saving my life twice, but you really should stay away from me.” 

They continued up the dock, Armin’s bare feet slapping loudly against the wooden deck. They both turned the corner to walk toward the parking lot, and they saw a black car parked at the end of the wooden walkway. Standing next to the car was the Jabba the Hutt Mayor, Melvin Pootier, and two bodyguards, along with another well dressed man and his bodyguard.

“Ah, there you are, my pet.” Melvin said in a syrupy voice. “You’ve made such a mess all around town. And look at you now. You were so beautiful at the auction earlier, now you look like you’ve all but run out of fight." His eyes scanned Armin's body slowly up and down. He was soaking wet and barefoot, his leather pants torn and pink blood stains starting to show near the shoulder and hip on Erwin’s long blue button up he was wearing. His hair, formerly a work of art updo, was now down around his shoulders, wet and disheveled, and his eyeliner was running down his face like warpaint.

“Ha, like hell. I could be dead and buried, and if you came around, I would gladly crawl out of my coffin and beat you to death with my own tibia, you disgusting bastard.” he said with a single smirk.

“My sweet pet. They told me that you may need to be thoroughly punished to learn your place.” The fat man purred, while he advanced toward the small blonde. “I’ll be happy to show some discipline to you, my little blue-eyed minx. I could put you in a cage, and make you wear a collar, like a kitten who needs to be trained.” 

The growl came from Erwin who stood next to him. It was low and deep, imitating from the depths of his chest. The mayor glanced over at the taller man, then did a double take after recognizing him. He didn't speak to him, however, but directed his attention back to the smaller man. 

“Or I could use a crop or a paddle on you, and teach you through pain, and pleasure.” The man had slinked slowly across the deck toward Armin and was now directly in front of the smaller man, his enormous fat stomach inches from his waist. “Would you like that, kitten?” He asked, reaching out and combing his fingers through Armin's wet hair. “Well, would you?” 

The mayor's hand clenched around his hair, grabbing it, just as he expected the man would. Armin drew one of his small knives in a flash, the sharp blade slicing through skin, tissue, bone. The fat man's hand was completely severed instantly, and he was shocked, stepping backward, not sure of what happened, but then he grabbed his bleeding stub, crying out.

“Aaaaugh! aaugh!” He fell on his knees, right in front of the blonde, which was a bad decision. Armin's knife slashed across his unguarded throat, splashing droplets of blood arcoss Erwin's face and shoulders.

“You’ll never touch me, or anyone again.” he whispered.

The bodyguards raised their weapons at the two blondes. “Drop your weapons! Let me see your hands!” 

The first knife went into the right bodyguard’s eye and he dropped instantly. The second knife dug into the other’s upper arm, and he looked at it, annoyed, trying to pull it out with one hand. He fired one shot while Armin lunged at him, the blonde wrenching his gun from his fingers and firing off four shots. He hit the bodyguard twice in the chest, and shot the other man who had tagged along and his bodyguard with the other two. The ground was covered in blood and bodies. Armin stood over the mayor and let three more shots ring out, caving in the skull of the already dead fat man.

There was silence between him and Erwin.

“Sorry,” Armin whispered, looking at Erwin's blood spattered face. “It's on your lip...don’t open your mouth...” he reached over, daintily trying to wipe the mayor’s blood spatter off Erwin’s face, then realizing he had just smeared it everywhere since he had even more blood on his own hands. He muttered a curse word under his breath. 

There was the sound of more engines, and multiple car rolled up, stopped and two familiar figures stepped out first followed by bodyguards and other group members.

It was Grisha and Carla Yeager. 

Armin pointed his gun right at Grisha’s head. He had a perfect shot and could nail him right between the eyes. He had two bullets left, one for the group leader, one for his wife. 

The air around him was frozen as he held the gun, Grisha staring at him from a few feet away, wondering if he would pull the trigger. 

Then, with a sigh, he let the gun fall, swinging around his index finger by the trigger for a moment before dropping to the ground, right on top of the fat man’s body. 

He held his hands up, showing he wasn’t concealing any more weapons in his palms. “Your doctor saved my life today. Now you owe him yours.” Armin said smoothly, looking from Grisha to Erwin.

There was chatter between the group members and Grisha and Carla, and Armin sighed, for the first time noticing a cooling on the left side of his chest, across from the shoulder that was wounded, and above the wound in his hip.

Looking down, blood was quickly seeping into Erwin’s blue shirt from a fresh gunshot wound. He hadn’t even felt it at the time. It was right below his collarbone, in the lean muscle of his small chest. He reached up,carefully touching the crimson, pulling back his hand with the sparkling liquid on his fingers.

"Well, shit." Armin murmured. “Sorry I ruined your shirt.” He said to Erwin with a small, throaty chuckle. Then everything faded to black, he was out before he even hit Grisha’s strong arms.

\-- 

Jean was shivering. Partially from watching Armin fall over the edge of the bridge covered in red, partially from the feeling of his still damp blood on the back of his white shirt. He was a terrible brother. How could he have abandoned his twin? He should have jumped in immediately after him. He should have saved him. Now he was alone. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone on his tail anymore, which made him nervous. The news camera was gone, so were the cars that had been after him. It made him anxious, like they knew something he didn’t. Maybe they did. He was getting close to another city hub, coming out of the fields and back into tall buildings. Offices and crowded streets. Maybe he could get lost here. 

He threw a glance over his shoulder. It still didn’t appear he was being followed, but he knew he was in Bodt territory now. The island was small, each group had their own designated territory, simply named after the group. Besides the few quiet farmlands in between the city hubs, you were either in Bodt, or Heiwajima, or Petrov, or Yaeger territory. There was one completely neutral zone, far on the outskirts of the island, called Maverick. It was generally used for large meetings, and was frequented by curious tourists. 

Traveling in other’s territories was not forbidden, but certain rules applied, such as: no starting feuds, no generating business outside territory without authorization, and the biggest rule: always clear your arrival with the home group visiting.

Jean threw a glance over his shoulders again, and still didn’t see himself being followed. He rode slowly deeper into Bodt, and as he got more into a metropolitan area, he pulled his bike over into an alleyway, covering it up with a tarp.

Tucking his wallet in his back pocket, he pushed his aviators up high on his face as he abandoned his vehicle and took off walking down the street. 

He drew many glances, some because he was familiar, others just because of his long legs and sharp, out of the ordinary features. He looked like a model, with the top two buttons on his shirt unbuttoned and his sunglasses casually resting on his nose, his sandy hair blowing in the wind. The only thing that threw off the look was the blood on the back of his shirt, but really, that wasn’t too much of an unusual sight around those parts. 

He weaved in and out of the crowds as the groupings of people got thicker. He could stay here. Find a place to sleep, think about what to do next. He saw a tall, expensive hotel and made a beeline for it. That would work. 

He picked up a new set of clothes in the shop near the lobby, then booked a room. It was a nice hotel, overlooking much of Bodt. He had only been to this part of Sentinel a few times with his father on business trips when he was young and his father had tried to groom him to take over the group. That time had long since passed, it had only taken a short time to realize that the twins would never be up to Takada’s standards. 

Takada sold drugs, and for years, Armin and Jean worked hard to police what they could in Heiwajima behind the scenes. They made sure sure dealers knew how to sell dosages at the right size, they taught people how to cut drugs with the right product so users didn't die. 

They weren’t doing the right thing, like telling people not to do drugs, but at least they were helping a little. They had also done a great deal of taking the product away from younger kids and sending them back to school, which that they did feel good about. 

They had set up small groups to take over for them when they left for college, and as far as they knew, the groups had only grown stronger. Working hard to regulate the selling of drugs in the city, to make people more educated and make the main business of Heiwajima safer.

It was an upside down way to live, but at least they had helped in their own way. 

Their father had always sold in other’s territory, despite the strict regulations against it without proper authorization. It was how he got so large of an empire in Sentinel. 

He sold in every group’s territories under the radar, and knew the ins and outs of the export and import business, how to get the most for cheapest, and sell the least for the most. He was a cunning man, and anything that he couldn’t profit off of, he cut. He would do anything he needed to rise to the top. His greediness would get him killed one day. All Jean hoped is that his death would come swiftly by either his own, or Armin’s hand. 

He wondered about the bullet they had put in him that afternoon. He doubted it would take only one bullet to kill that monster of a man, but he hoped it at least did a little damage.

Jean hopped in the large glass shower at the hotel, dousing himself with the generic hotel soap and shampoo, washing away Armin’s blood that was clinging to his skin. 

His head was spinning, as he relived the day. He didn’t want to think about what happened to Armin. He wanted to wipe it out of his mind. Thinking about his twin falling hundreds of feet down in those heavy clothes with his chest injuries. He never would have been able to swim to shore in the cold water with his wounds, and he was never a super great swimmer to begin with. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t think about that. He needed a drink.

He got out of the shower, toweled off and dressed, tucking his pistol in the back of his pants. He made his way down to the hotel bar, looking at his watch. It was 1:30, and the bar was nearly empty, except for a few couples having lunch. 

He slid onto one of the bar stools, rolling the sleeves of his black button down shirt up to escape from the summer heat. His white pants were light and cool, paired with the dark shirt it was classy, but black was not ideal for the weather.

With a couple buttons on top unbuttoned he looked classy and casual, and was drawing quite a few glances from passing ladies. He was drawing too much attention to himself, but for some reason, he couldn’t find a reason to care.

“Jamison.” He said, when the bartender arrived. The bartender didn’t ask for his ID, so Jean decided he was either looking extra grown up that day, or he already knew who Jean was. He guessed the latter. The man slid a tumbler in front of Jean and filled it with two fingers of Jameson, then swiftly walked away.

Jean looked up at the TV mounted above the impressive display of various alcohols on the long, wooden mirrored bar. The news was playing, about the auction and the Heiwajima Twins.

Jean looked up at the TV then did a double take as he watched it playing. The headline read: At Least 15 Dead as Heiwajima Auction Goes Awry  


The news anchor spoke on the topic: In a stunning turn of events this afternoon, Armin and Jean Kirschtein-Heiwajima, whom Takada Heiwajima had planned on selling like livestock at his auction today, made quite a ruckus, killing four and critically wounding their father, Takada Heiwajima, at the Millennial Ballroom in Heiwajima, before fleeing on a motorbike. They were pursued by multiple vehicles, where at least 7 more were killed trying to hinder their escape.

In a less fortuitous turn of events, it appears as if Armin Kirschtein-Heiwajima was shot multiple times, and then fell over the railing of this bridge, which runs over Violet Bay. Witnesses report he was pulled out of the water by a single man, who then took him to shore.

Some hours later, police discovered five more bodies on the shore, one being the Mayor of Sentinel, Melvin Pootier, who earlier today, purchased Armin at the auction for an undisclosed amount of money. Pootier had three bullets in the head, and was missing one hand. The corpses of his two bodyguards, as well as Congressman Tanner Frauenfeld and his bodyguard, were found at the scene as well. As of this moment, both of the Kirschtein-Heiwajima twins are still declared missing. Takada Heiwajima is in Heiwajima General Hospital, suffering from a chest wound, but is expected to make a full recovery. More news on this as the story unfolds.

Jean gulped down his Jamison, asking for another round from the bartender. Armin was alive, and had killed that fat bastard who had tried to buy him. He would have love to see his cut off his hand, that would have been priceless. What had he done leading up to the moment? He tried to lay it all out in his mind like he thought it would have happened. Something along the lines of “Come with me, I’ll never hurt you.” Or something gross like that, while he reached out and touched his hand. Then he would say, “Touch me again and I’ll cut off your hand.” Then he would say, “I don’t believe you” Or something, then.....slice.

Perfect. He smiled into his tumbler. He didn’t know where Armin was now, but he had been alive after his fall, alive enough to take down five guys while he had two bullet holes in his already. He didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Mr. Heiwajima?” A loud, clearly accented voice behind him said.

Jean swiveled in his chair, meeting the dark eyes of two similar looking men in dark suits. Don Bodt’s men. That was faster than he expected, though he didn’t know why. He was in their city.

“It’s Kirschtein-Heiwajima, actually. Or just Kirschtein, now. Its been a long day.”

“We need you to come with us.” The one on the left said, grabbing Jean by the collar and jerking him down from the bar stool.

“Yeah, figures.” Jean whispered.

He reached in his back pocket for his wallet, while both of the men reached for the guns on their belt.

“It’s fine.” Jean said, pulling a $20 out of his wallet and leaving it on the bar under his glass. “I won’t start any racket in your territory.”

Maybe he did have something to worry about...himself.


	4. Meet The Bodts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE DARK MARCO
> 
> Like seriously, I say that every day. 
> 
> There are some translations here, listed in the notes at the end of the chapter. I used google, so if you actually speak Italian and these mean something else, I hope it doesn't ruin the story for you!

Jean had been into the Bodt’s headquarters only once, when he was just a child.

It was a large, masterfully built home, with a wrought iron gate on the outside, an 'B' stamped on it in a circle. 

Upon entering the gate and going up the long tree-lined driveway, there came into view a house unlike anything Jean had ever seen. 

There were large stairs up to the front wrap-around porch, and the house had three visible levels, judging from the vast array of windows, and one tall cylindrical part of the house that shot straight up like a castle tower, taller than the rest of the colossal grey and white structure. 

The house had a number of different angles, almost looking like it was three houses pressed together to make something monstrous and magnificent, and Jean decided it must be enormous on the inside. 

There was an apple orchard that stretched out the back, and the wrought iron fence that wound around the whole property kept the old mansion and orchard in its own world, even though it was in the middle of the city. 

It was indeed huge on the inside, and much more modern than Jean expected it to be. The entry hall was tall and open, with an enormous 25 foot high vaulted ceiling with an exquisite chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which took on the appearance of falling stars, each light hanging on its own individual straight silver beam, the beams spiraling around and up like a staircase to make a magnificent sight that had the sandy-haired guest staring straight up at it for longer than he’d like to admit. 

The floor was a blue and white tiled semiprecious stone, and the walls were decorated with sizable, one-of-a-kind modern art pieces. 

Directly in front of him upon walking in was a large double staircase that wrapped around to go up to the second floor, as well as heavy wooden doors leading to other rooms, all tightly shut. Other than that, the entry hall was completely empty.

One of the Italian mobsters that had pulled Jean from the bar stayed by him in the entry hall while the other went up the stairs, and there was a sound of a large door opening, and then closing again. 

A few moments later, the second man descended, and grabbed Jean by the arm, escorting him up the large white-carpeted staircase. 

Jean looked around, taking in the decor of the home. The carpet was white, the walls painted a soothing shade of slate, and the decorations and fixtures modern and lively. As opposed to the outside of the house, which looked like it had been built nearly 100 years ago, the inside seemed like something out of a Modern Home and Garden Magazine. 

Well, minus probably the bloodstains on the carpet, which were probably there...somewhere. 

The man lead Jean up to the outside of some large french doors, and motioned for him to go in. The twin’s hands were a little sweaty as he grasped the doorknob and pushed one of the French doors open, the door swinging into a well lit, white room.

\--

The room he entered was open and bright, with a gold light bar running around the expanse of the room and gold fixtures on the wall.

White curtains covered the floor to ceiling bay windows, but were half turned back, the other side emerald, showing off a beautiful mix of the two colors against each other. There was a long glass mirror on the wall adjacent from the two walls with windows. 

There were two jade colored couches and a white coffee table that sat near the mirror, across from the main feature in the room, a long, wooden desk, with a tall, authoritative man sitting behind it.

The man was familiar to Jean, he had seen him dozens of time on TV, the news, and the multiple times he had stopped by in the Heiwajima territory. He wouldn’t say that Don Ricardo Bodt and his father were on good terms, but Bodt was a businessman first and foremost and never would let personal feelings get in the way of money.

Jean didn’t speak, once he met eyes with the Don. He knew the Don could kill him in an instant with no regrets, and wasn’t about to disrespect the Boss in his own home. He simply bowed.

“Jean Kirschtein-Heiwajima.” The Don spoke to him.

“Yes, Don Bodt?” 

“What brings you to my territory? Running some errands for your father?”

“No, sir.” Jean wondered if he asked the question simply to get a rise out of him. He knew that the Don was well connected, so he should know what was going on that afternoon, especially since there had been members of his group present.

The Don pressed his fingers together, waiting for an answer to his question. 

“I was just, ah, needing a drink.” Jean said, simply. 

“And you came here, to Bodt, to do so?”

“Yes, Don Bodt. I apologize for not calling first. I hate to waste your time.”

Bodt looked at Jean for a long time, showing him that was not the answer he wanted to hear, and making Jean squirm. 

“You look like you’ve had a rough day, Jean.”

'What does he want me to say?' Jean asked himself, squinting slightly. “Yes, sir.” 

“What did you do today, that got you so worn out?” The man asked, standing from his desk, walking around to the front, and leaning on it casually, only an arms length away from Jean. He was wearing a navy pinstripe suit with a white shirt underneath, and Jean would have pinned him in his late 50s or early 60s, with a strong, terrifying stare, dark brown eyes, and a chestnut hair and beard starting to show grey in the sides. He was at least 5 inches taller than Jean, who stood above average at 5’11”.

Jean cleared his throat, grating his back teeth together. I guess he wants me to spell it out for him. 

He clasped his hands behind his back, picking at his hangnails aggressively while those dark eyes stared him down.

“I was entered into an auction with my twin brother Armin. My father decided he wanted to sell us to make money since we weren’t interested in him or his business.”

The man nodded. Jean had stopped his story, as if that was the end. “Continue.” Don said, motioning with his hand.

“Ah, We broke out of our handcuffs…”

“How.”

“I popped my thumb out, and then we had hidden a gun in Armin’s kimono, so then we pulled it out and I shot the chain off of his cuffs.”

Don leaned forward slightly, and Jean held out his right hand, which was completely swollen, and a small nick he’d gotten from prying the cuff off his wrist in the hotel. 

He nodded again, motioning for Jean to continue.

“Then ah, we, I, actually, shot the auctioneer, and my father, twice, and Armin killed some guards coming after us.”

“How.”

“Um, he usually carries little throwing knives. he just, cut their throats. They weren’t expecting it.”

Don nodded, and Jean continued the story, not having to be on this time.

“We took off some of our clothes, and went to the motorcycle I had ready for us. Then we drove through the city and were being chased so Armin was shooting at them.

“How.”

'Why? Does he like, get off to this or something?' Jean asked, furrowing his internal eyebrows. 'Probably. You’d have to get off to something like this if you’re in this line of work I guess.'

“He, ah, Was sitting on the bike backwards. Holding on with his legs and shooting while I drove. he took out three motorcycles, and two cars, but then got shot twice. The last time I saw his was when he was jumping off the bridge into Violet bay. he couldn’t hold on to the bike anymore. So he chose that route instead."

“Suicide?” Don questioned.

“I don’t think so, no sir. I just think it was escape. he wanted me to go on. And, he’s a fair swimmer.”

“Then you came here. To my territory, dragging all your troubles with you.” 

Jean didn’t even consider arguing. “Yes, sir.” 

There was a long pause. 

“That’s a good story, Heiwajima, I like that, I really do. Do you know what I did today?”

“No, sir.”

“I suppose not. I had some wonderful prima colazione, then I went into a meeting for three hours with my brothers in Italy over Skype. Its amazing, technology these days. Then, I went down to the docks to check on my new shipment of M16s coming in from my friends in Saudi Arabia. Do you know what I found?” 

“No, sir.” Jean responded, squeezing his hands together tighter behind his back.

The Don opened his desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag, throwing it on his desk.

“Look at it Jean. Do you know what those are?” 

Jean picked it up by the corner, looking at it, swallowing hard, and setting the bag back down. “Eyes and ears, sir.”

“Yes. I found some nice young men selling drugs at my dock. And you know, I really don’t have anything against drugs. I enjoy a nice pipe now and then for my health. But I really hate people coming into my home without permission. Dragging their dirty feet all over my rug without taking their shoes off, its disgusting. Like your father, like his little minions, and like you.”

The Don roughly reached forward, grabbing Jean around the throat. “Sensei Heiwajima thinks he is sneaky, selling in my territory, but I know, and he will pay for it. Did you know, in the Italian Mafia, Jean, we have a saying that goes, 'Se qualcuno ti prende, riprendi il doppio', do you know what that means?”

Jean did know, he had heard it before from his father. It was one of the reasons that crossing the Italians was so dangerous. 

“If someone takes from you, take back double.” Jean recited.

“Molto bene, Jean.” The Don said silkily. “So what kind of Don would I be if I caught you here in my territory and didn’t do anything about it? Not a great one, hmm?” The Don shook his head, answering the question himself.

He adjusted both his large hand around Jean’s neck and squeezed it, Jean letting out a surprised choke. “Your neck is so slender. Like a swan. I would love to crush it.” 

Jean let his eyes slip closed as the Don clenched his large hands around his windpipe. He wouldn’t even scream. He could take it. This was a fine way to go. He was planning on dying today anyway. 

He was lifted up off the ground, his throat squeezed tighter, his airflow being cut off completely. 

He let out a small, inhuman whimper and hated himself for it, while white spots came into the corner of his eyes and he tried not to struggle. He didn’t want to. If there was a way to get choked to death gracefully, this would be it. 

“I saw you on the TV today, Jean. If you were my son, I would have been proud.” The Don said, as his large hands choked the life from Jean.

He was lifted up in the air, his feet dangling above the ground as the Don crushed his throat, his brain crying out to stop whatever was happening. 

His vision started to fade to black, and he hated himself inwardly for letting himself die so easily. 

Suddenly, he was dropped to the floor, oxygen flooding his lungs, his lanky body crumpling in a heap.

His eyes shot open and he choked for a breath, gasping in air as he was allowed to breathe freely.

“You’re strong, Jean, I like that.” The Don said with a sneer, crouching down and lifting up the younger man’s chin with his thick index finger, Jean's watery green eyes meeting the older man's piercing brown gaze. “I think I’ll keep you for awhile. I know my son will enjoy you.”

Jean’s body jerked at the statement. “What?”

“You owe me a debt, Jean, we just talked about that, didn’t we? Se qualcuno ti prende, riprendi il doppio?” The sandy-haired man was frozen, considering all the possibilities the Don’s words could mean. 

The door opened, and in walked a devastatingly handsome man, with dark eyes, olive skin, and a band of freckles across his nose. His hair was the same chestnut color as his father's and he had an enormous smile showing rows of straight white teeth and sharp canines. He was the same height as his father but not as brawny, but still had shoulders much broader than Jean’s and a larger chest. 

“Questo è il mio nuovo giocattolo, padre?” He directed the beautiful Italian question at the older man, but his eyes were glued on Jean. 

“Yes, Marco. This is Jean. Play nicely with him, we wouldn’t want him breaking, would we?” He stepped out of the way, and let Marco walk over and crouch down in front of Jean, who was frozen and helpless. 

“Un ragazzo così bello.” He whispered, running his fingers through Jean’s hair. “Bellissimo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prima colazione - breakfast
> 
> Se qualcuno ti prende, riprendi il doppio - If someone takes from you, take back double 
> 
> Molto bene- very good
> 
> Questo è il mio nuovo giocattolo, padre?- Is this my new toy, Father?
> 
> Un ragazzo così bello- Such a beautiful boy
> 
> Bellissimo - Very beautiful


	5. Meet The Yeagers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I have returned, back from the dead! For the past few months I've been going through some really shitty family stuff and really lost my inspiration. 
> 
> Happy to be back, sorry for the loooong hiatus!

“Où suis-je?” Armin mumbled softly. 

“Is he waking up?” An unfamiliar male voice asked. 

“I’m not sure. Could just be a fever dream.” Another voice answered.

“Imma go grab Erwin for the library. Talk to him if he wakes up, ok?”

“Où suis-je? Jean?” The small blonde peeled his tired eyes open, blearily clearing the sleep from his vision. He was in a large, 4 posted bed in a darkened room, with floor to ceiling windows on the adjacent wall, the curtains drawn closed. The room was tastefully decorated in neutral shades of cream and gold, the gold curtains matching the pillowcases and accenting the sheets. Also in the large room was a table and set of chairs, a long couch, that had been facing the fireplace in the corner, but was now turned to face the bed. On the couch sat a small man with jet black hair styled in a neat undercut. He was holding a folded over newspaper in one hand and had reading glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed in a slate grey button down and black pants. When he heard Armin's stirring, he looked up. 

“Comment allez-vous?” He answered Armin's French question with his own, then repeated it in English, just in case he had been speaking in tongues and actually didn’t know French. “How are you feeling?”

Armin looked down at his body. he was wearing a long maroon dress shirt, with a few of the buttons undone. he looked inside, and saw his entire chest, hip and neck had turned ugly shades of red and purple, the bruises spreading across his small frame up and out in the radii from each individual bullet, showing what a toll the injuries had actually taken in his body. 

“Oh my god...” Armin commented, looking at the bruises. “I feel alive, just sore. Did I injure anything serious?” he asked.

The dark-haired man stood from his seat, walking nearer to the bed.  “Erwin would know more about that than I, but I think that if you’re alive and kicking now, and breathing by yourself, you’re golden.”

A familiar blonde haired man swiftly walked into the room, a book tucked under his arm. He looked even more attractive than the day Armin had first met him, probably because he wasn’t completely covered in water and blood from saving his life. 

“Levi, don’t make shit up.” The elder man stated as he approached the bed, peering at the ravenette with sharp cobalt eyes.

“Erwin.” Armin said with a smile, scooting up in bed with a groan. 

“How are you feeling today? I see you already met Levi, Eren’s bodyguard," he said, motioning to the dark-haired man who was tucking his reading glasses into his pocket, "And this is Eren Yaeger. Have you two met?” Armin peered around Erwin at the tall, well built, mischievous looking man behind him. He had eyes the color of the Mediterranean sea, and tousled chocolate hair, and was dressed similar to the blonde doctor, casually in jeans and plain tee shirts. 

“Probably?” he said, reaching out to shake his hand awkwardly.

“I’m sure we have, at one time or another? Everyone knows everything about everyone in Sentinel.” Eren stated truthfully. 

Armin nodded, then turned his eyes back to Erwin, Eren going to stand comfortably next to Levi. “What’s my diagnosis, Doc? Will I make it?” 

Erwin pulled out his phone and scrolled through where he had made some notes. “Well, you’re very healthy, so your body produces blood quite fast, faster than usual. This is how you didn’t bleed out, despite being shot in such dangerous places. Luckily, when you got shot near your hip, your front and back ribs were cracked when it entered and exited. It missed both your spine and your pelvis, those are unharmed. We’ll have to watch the shoulder wound, you may experience some recurring muscle and nerve pain with that in the future. The bullet near your neck was only a .22, luckily, but cracked your collarbone and hit some important veins. But, we got it out, it's not hurting anything, and, you’re just really lucky.” Erwin finished his report, sliding his phone back in his pocket. 

“Aha, I think that's the first time in my life I've been called lucky. But I'm glad.” Armin announced, and gave a short laugh. “Ow, laughing hurts.” he said, holding his ribs. 

“It will take awhile for everything to completely heal, especially the severe bruising. But as Levi so casually put it,” He said, giving a side glance to the raven-haired man, “pretty soon, you should be golden.” 

“Thanks so much for saving my life three times in a row. Now I really owe you.” Armin smiled. “I guess I picked the right bridge to jump from.”

“I guess so.” The larger blonde responded with a smile.

There was a comfortable pause in the conversation, before Armin asked, “So um, where are we?”

“This is my place. You’re in Yaeger.” Eren announced. “My parents brought you and Erwin home after you went all ‘Church Scene In Kingsman’ at the docks last week.”

“That was last week?” Armin exclaimed. “How long have I been asleep?” 

Eren and Erwin looked at each other. “Uh, 6 days?”

“Your body really needed to recuperate. We didn’t put you under or anything.” Erwin explained. 

“Right. Is my brother here?”

Erwin shook his head. “No, but, um, Levi said his contact says he’s with the Bodt's.”

Armin’s eyes widened and he bit his lower lip. “Shit.”

“Shit why?” Levi asked, curious at the situation.

“Long story, basically my father...Takada, he’s a bastard who has people in everyone’s territory, he never respects the general ‘rules’ laid down. Bodt I’m sure knows, him and my father have never been on the best of terms. Not that my father and anyone have been on great terms, except the Russians, who are also bastards...anyway, I’m just afraid Bodt will take out whatever he’s harboring against my dad on him. He’s a businessman after all. An opportunity is an opportunity.”

There was silence between the three as they all thought over the implication of the situation.   

The door to the room flew open suddenly, breaking their deep concentration. And a flurry of angry words flew from the mouth of the older, bespectacled man in the doorway. He wasn’t terrible looking for his older age, and had long hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and was dressed in black pants and a white button down shirt, dressed up still in his own home. Grisha Yeager. 

“Warum hast du mir nicht gesagt, dass er ist?” He barked at his son. 

Armin jumped at the seemingly pissed off yell. 

“Er ist gerade aufgewacht wie vor zwei Sekunden, Papa!” Eren responded in the equally as angry verbiage. 

They continued to exchange words, and Armin leaned over to Erwin. “Why are they so angry?”

Erwin chuckled. “They actually aren’t, Grisha’s just wondering why Eren didn’t call him when you woke up, and how you’re doing. German always just sounds pissed off.”

Grisha looked towards Erwin, standing by the bed, and Armin, and gave his a soft smile. 

“How are you feeling, Mr. Heiwajima?” Armin flinched at the name. 

“Just Armin is fine. And much better, thanks to you all.” he said softly. 

“I’ll have Eren bring you something to eat, you haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Armin shook his head no, and Grisha sent Eren off with a few angry sounding words and a wave of his hand. 

Armin slipped out from under the covers, planting his bare feet on the floor, and buttoning up his shirt quickly. he realized a little too late that he wasn't wearing any pants, but he didn’t feel like he should be laying down in the boss’s presence. 

He didn’t know if he should ask forgiveness for his appearance or not, since he wasn’t exactly the one who dressed himself so he said nothing, standing with Erwin’s help. 

“You look much better than you did a few days ago. I trust the bruising will go down soon.” Grisha said with another smile, advancing across the room to get a better look at Armin.

“Yes, his recovery is going well.” Erwin spoke, “he’ll make a full recovery in no time.”

Grisha smiled warmly. “That’s good news indeed.”

“Mr. Yaeger, may I speak to you alone, please?” Armin asked. The elder man looked the blonde over, and then judging that he probably didn’t have any weapons that could kill him hidden, he nodded. “Erwin and Levi. Could you step outside for a bit?” Grisha asked politely, and the two exited, shutting the door quietly behind them. 

“You had something to ask me?” Grisha ventured.

“I’m sure you already know what it is.”

The elder man didn't respond for a bit, he just stood, looking Armin over, studying his crystal blue eyes and blonde locks hair falling down over his left shoulder, wavy and messy from sleep, his fists balled at his side in a defensive position. “Yes, but I’d like you to ask.” He finally responded

Armin paused, studying the man back. he was familiar with the man, and had known of the Yeagers his whole life. he never thought he would be having this conversation with Grisha though. 

“Am I here as a guest, or as your property?” he finally asked. 

The man cocked his head to the side, as if looking for the right answer. “Would my answer change your course of action? No matter what I say, as soon as you heal, I’m assuming you’ll escape into the sunset, or slit my throat, will you not?”

Armin bit his lower lip. “No.”

“No why?”

“Because if I belong to you, then I don’t belong to myself.” he said quietly. 

Grisha smiled slightly, as if he had already known where this conversation was going. 

“Yes, then. Since the mayor took three bullets to the head, I became the winning bid.” He pulled a receipt out of his pocket and handed it to Armin, who looked it over then crunched it in his hand, dropping it to the floor, his nostrils flaring. He wobbled on his feet slightly, and Grisha reached forward to take hold of the smaller man to steady him. 

“So what?” Armin said bitterly, “Aren’t you going to claim your prize?” he motioned to the bed behind him. “I’m not afraid. I’ve had worse, nothing you can do to me will hurt me.”

Grisha, surprisingly, shook is head In denial, running his fingers gently through the blonde's tousled hair. 

“No,” He softly whispered. “I know what’s happened to you. Believe me, no one in our home will ever touch you like that. Never.” 

Armin was taken aback. “Then why am I here?”

“Because you’re strong. I’ve always liked that about you, and your twin. Strong, smart, decisive. And I brought you here because I want you to marry my son.”

Armin’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Eren?” He thought about the good looking, well built man. ”I...I don’t understand. Why me? What about heirs, and children, and--”

Grisha moved his hand and Armin instinctively lifted his arm in front of his face, preparing for a hit. Grisha frowned as he pushed Armin's thin arm down, and ran his thumb down his cheek then around his small chin. “Don’t be afraid. No one will hurt you here .” He whispered. “I want the Hiewajima territory. All of it. Your father is a plague on this island. Marry my son. We'll wash the island clean of your father, and the Hiewajima-Yaeger legacy will begin.” Grisha said after awhile. Armin opened his mouth to state a counterpoint, then closed it again. He had phrased it like an option, but it wasn’t, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Eren, does he know?” 

“No. But he will soon. He’s an obedient son. He won’t disobey my wishes. He’s to take over my position one day. He has to play the part.”

Armin nodded his head in understanding. 

“I understand, sir.”

“Please,” Grisha said kindly, “Call me Grisha. Or even father if you would like.”

Armin looked down at the ground, mulling the idea over while the elder man gently ran his fingers through his tangled strands of hair. 

“Yes, father.” he whispered, letting the unfamiliar word float from his lips.


	6. Meet the Hiewajimas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of backstory in this chapter. 
> 
> Mentions of abuse/rape.

Armin and Eren were sitting across from each other at the dinner table, staring at each other. Grisha was at the head, Carla on his right, seated across from her bodyguard. 

Next to Carla sat Eren, then Erwin, across from them Armin and Levi. Multiple other group members and bodyguards sat farther down the long, ornately carved cherry oak dinner table, and everyone present could feel the tension between young blonde and firey-eyed brunette across from him.

The announcement had taken place that afternoon, after Armin had showered and dolled up a little. He had been in the study when Grisha and Carla announced that Eren would be wedding this more or less mail order bride. Armin wore a straight poker face while Eren’s shocked jaw dropped. 

After the intial announcement, there was the immediate reaction of Eren launching himself from his chair and yelling a slew of angry german words at Grisha. The elder man patiently responded with more german, but the conversation escalated between the young man and quickly both the parents were conversing loudly in their native tongue. Armin sat awkwardly for a bit, his hands squeezed together in his lap, unitil he finally excused himself.

He slipped out the study door quietly, and found Levi and Erwin right outside. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, listening at the door with them.

“Lots of things.” Levi answered. “Eren’s saying its not fair and he won’t do it. Something about arranged marriages and how you just met…”

“Grisha is reaming him about his lazing about, duty and all that.”  Erwin added.

Armin took a deep breath, putting his hand on his forehead. He slowly moved away from the door, and slowly meandered down the hallway back to his room, Erwin following him. 

“Are you feeling okay?” The larger man asked, once they had both entered the room and seated themselves on one of the window seats overlooking the large garden. 

“I shouldn't be here. We were supposed to leave Sentinel." Armin said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Erwin sighed. "I'm sorry. This is really wrong. I know. But the Yaegers, they're good people. They'll take care of you."

Armin looked at Erwin, his eyes narrowing. "Really? Is anyone good in Sentinel?"

Erwin gave a half smile. "I guess you're right about that. But really, you're probably safer now then you've ever been in Sentinel. Eren is a really good man."

“He seems like it. He deserves to be with the person he wants to be with.” Armin said quietly. 

That was before dinner. Now, the two young men studied each other, like they were trying to figure out what to say. Dinner was painful, but that evening was worse, when Armin came back to his room and Grisha was there waiting for him.

“I thought I’d have you sleep with Eren tonight. You can get to know each other a little better. Sound okay?” Once again, he phrased it like a question but Armin knew it wasn't. 

\--

Armin padded along after Grisha, as he pulled his silk white robe around his body, reaching underneath and pulling down the tight, silky boxers he was wearing, his face was a dark shade of red at his embarrasment as he trudged down the hallway. He passed Levi and Erwin in the hallway, Erwin blushing, Levi’s eyes turning dark, his eyebrows knitting together, which made Armin easily put two and two together. 

He arrived at Eren’s room. The dark haired man was staring out the window, arms crossed. Grisha all but pushed Armin into his room, said a few firm words to Eren in German, before kissing Armin on the hand. “Goodnight, dear.” He murmerred, closing them in the large room together. 

Armin pressed his back against the door, pulling his robe around himself shyly, trying to cover himself. He didn't know what to say. 

Eren advanced towards him, casually dressed in a plain tee shirt and jeans. He reached the door, leaned into it, and then lowered his head, tipping the blonde's chin up towards him. Armin slightly opened his lips, and the brunette softly laid a kiss across them. 

“Thanks?” Armin said awkwardly as Eren pulled away, and the brunette returned an equally as awkward smile. 

“You look very nice.” Eeren stated politely, taking Armin's hand and pulling him away from the door and over to the bed. He grabbed the smaller man by the waist and placed him on the bed, then crawled onto it himself. They laid on their backs next to each other. 

“I don’t want to marry you.” Armin leaned in and whispered in the brunette's ear. 

With a smirk, Eren leaned over and whispered back, “I don’t want to marry you either.”

They both smiled up at the ceiling for awhile, contentedly listening to each other's breathing. 

“Its Levi, isnt it?” Armin asked softly, not sure if someone was listening. “The man in your life.”

Eren turned his head to look at the blonde. “Was it that obvious?” 

“No, I’m just good at reading signs. How long?”

“He’s been my bodyguard since I was 13, and he was 23. So for 10 years. We were always close when we were younger, but didn’t start anything, you know, make our intentions known, until I was about 19.”

Armin nodded. “Why do you like him?” 

Eren sighed. “He knows everything about me. And he’s kind, and watches out for me. Its hard to explain. Its like a really good friend, that you just want more of. I don’t know when it happened. But for us it just did.”

“Do your parents know?”

The taller man rolled over on his stomach, his lanky legs hanging off the bed. “Well, they’re not inept. We’ve never done anything obvious in public, we save it for behind closed doors, but they’re not blind. I’ve also never dated in my whole teenage and adult life. They hadn’t said anything about it until well, today I guess.”

“What did they say?” Armin asked curiously, tipping his head to one side.

"Oh, stuff about duty, how I need to invest in my future and be ready to take over my father's empire and that shit." He said, sighing again.

“I'm sorry."

"That's Sentinel, you know."

Armin nodded in agreement.

Thise was comfortable silence for a moment. “What about you? Anyone special in your life?” Eren questioned, and Armin shifted his position, rolling over gently on the bed, putting his head on Eren’s lower back like a pillow. 

“That’s a long story.” 

“We have a long time. Literally. We have all night.”

Armin sighed. “I’d have to start at the very beginning. Like. Of me being born.”

“Go for it. I’m a good listner.” The brunette said, moving a little to adjust his position. 

Armin sighed again. “Okay. Well, its always been just Jean and I. And no, this isn't like, twincest or anything, before you ask.  Just all we’ve ever had is each other. Our mom, she was a French actress who came to Sentinel for a vacation and met our dad. It was like this adventurous, romantic fling, oooh, the bad mob boss and me are banging, you know how it is. So, she got back to Paris and found out she was pregnant with his child and was just appalled. She didn’t have an abortion though, she popped us out, and almost immediately sent us back to Sentinel to be with our father. I don’t even think she went with us, I think she had a french nanny go with us and raise us for a couple years or something, I obviously can’t remember and there are multiple stories that circulate."

Eren nodded, listening.

"So, we grow older. Our father hates us,  we look like our mother, with the same carefree spirit and good heart. Everything about us he hates. He hates having kids underfoot, barfing and sniveling having to take us to school and teach us to read, everything. ”

He looked at Eren, who was laying on one elbow, listening contentedly, then continued.

“So, our dad liked to smack us around, hold us under the water when we were taking baths, burn us with his cigarettes, you know, the usual asshole abusive father things. He would leave us locked in our rooms for days without food when he went somewhere. He would have killed us multiple times if it weren’t for Nile.”

“Nile?”

“Yeah, our older brother, well, half brother. He only lived with Takada part time, the other time he was with his mom on the mainland. He took care of us when he could, I don’t know why. He’s 9 years older than us, and didn’t have any responsibility to us at all, but was there. Bandaged us up, fed us. He looked out for us when we were little. Eventually, probably because of Nile, word reached our mother in Paris that we were being abused. So when we were 8, she flew us out to France and we lived with her. She wasn’t a super great mom, but she had a good heart, and did what she could. We were often bounced around in the care of agents and babysitters, but it was heaven compared to being with my dad. We stayed there until we were 14, when she died.”

“I’m sorry. What happened to her?” Eren asked, adjusting his position, flipping over so Armin could lay on his stomach and he could see him better. 

“No one knows. she was just dead on the train tracks. A lot of people said suicide, but she was healthy and happy in her career, and with us I think. So after that, we got shuttled back to Sentinel. We were older, much older than when we’d left. Tall, lean, beautiful. We spoke french and were more refined, spending time with our sophisticated mother. It made our father furious. He hated us so much more. The physical abuse started again, and then the sexual abuse too. Jean got the worst of it, he always tried so hard to protect me. Any time Takada was drunk, or tired, or made a bad deal, he would take it out on one of us, in one way or another. I don’t know why we didn’t run sooner, I guess we just didn’t have anywhere to go and felt trapped."

Eren reached up and gently put his hand on Armin's forearm, as if to comfort him from all the terrible things that had happened in the past.

"There was one night though, he walked in on us packing our bags. We were planning on leaving. We were 16 at the time, and he was having a party downstairs. He caught us in the act, and dragged us both downstairs. He made me watch as every man there...took advantage of my brother, until he passed out on top of a gambling table. It was the most horrific thing I have ever seen the images are burned into my mind. There was blood, from so many of them taking him so hard. He was crying, his fingernails bloodied from scratching into the table, his voice raw from begging them to stop. I’ll never forget that moment, no matter how much I want to.  I was screaming and crying...then Takada slapped me in the face and knocked me to the ground, and stared kicking me over and over, breaking my nose, and my ribs and my sternum, then stepping in my arm, snapping it, while he just laughed, his friends standing around laughing too. I was lucky enough to pass out, and when I woke up, Nile was there, covered from head to toe in blood, and everyone in the room was dead, except my father, who was gone."

Eren's jaw dropped. Armin couldn't tell which part of the story had shocked him the most. 

"That was the worst night of our lives. But after that night, we decided we would be better. Stronger. So no one could touch us and nothing would hurt. Nile trained us. He was strong and very capable, he tought us everything we know. When we turned 18, we found our mother had left us a trust fund, so we left Sentinel. We went to college. Jean studied science, and I studied books, myths, cultures and languages. Then we travelled the world, learning all about different peoples and times and relationships. It healed us, a little I think, but the scars and trama run deep, especially in Jean. We came back to Sentinel a couple months ago. We wanted to see Nile more than anything, but he’d disappeared. I don’t know what it means, if our father finally killed him for all the times he helped us, or if he just decided it was time to make his escape too. That basically brings us up to current news. We were back in town and just got the news that we were being sold, right before someone came and dragged us off to our Dad’s compound. Typical father thing to do, but I’d rather be owned by someone else then be with him, to be honest. I don’t know why we came back here in the first place. Maybe for Nile, since he’s the one who pulled us out of it all, or maybe because it was the only place like a home we ever had.”

Eren was still staring, wide eyed and mouth open. 

Armin sighed. “Thats about it. So no. There's never been anyone in my life, to answer your question. He would have to be truly special. A gentle man, but also strong, brave, kind, someone to protect me. Everything my father isn't.”

“I’m sorry.” Eren said, after a long while. 

“Thanks, but, its okay now. Every day is a new day, and one day, I’ll slit that rat bastard’s throat and Jean and I can finally be at peace.”

The room fell silent, just their breathing to be heard.

“I don’t have any big stories. Eren said. I’ve always been Grisha and Carla’s only son. I know they want what's best for me, and for the group. But they push too hard sometimes. Like in this instance.” 

Armin shrugged. “I’m sure it will all work out in the end. Your father seems like a good man.”

Eren’s eyes widened. “He can be. To me, to our family, and Erwin. But I’ve seen him set a live man on fire without any hesitation. He’s kind, but also a coldhearted boss when he needs to be.”

“Thats better than one extreme or the other.”

“Suppose so.”

“So, Erwin, he’s your doctor?” 

"Yes, he has always been part of the family, I don't have any memories without him. His parents died when he was very young so my famiily took him in and put him through medical school. He’s crazy smart, he and Levi are best friends. He's a good man, we love him.”

“I like him too. He’s very nice.”

“Mmm, watch out for him.” Eren smiled. “He’s a sly fox.”

Armin bluhed, just a bit. “I don’t know what you’re eluding to, Mr. Yaeger.”

“I didn’t say anything. But, so you know, Erwin is single.” 

Armin smiled, folding in on himself and clenching his fists in his usual defensive position. 

Eren smirked. “He’s like my brother. I’ll put in a good word for you.” 

“And I’m your to-be partner, you can’t try to hook up your brother and your partner.” he whispered, “What if your parents found out!”

Eren rolled his eyes. “Please. Erwin would find out we’re faking this all anyway, might as well go ahead with no pretenses, especially if you're pining so hard for him.” He said with a wink.

“I am not pining so hard!” Armin bluhed with a pout.

Eren just smiled with a little shrug 

Armin’s eyes scanned around Eren’s room,  resting on the ps4 under the large TV on the wall. 

“Can we play a game together?” Armin asked.

“Yeah, but we have to be quiet. We’re supposed to be planning the next three decades of Yaeger-Hiewajima warplans.”

Armin gawked at the notion. 

“Oh, by the way, here.” Eren said, pulling a thin black band out of his pocket and getting down on one knee. “It was my grandfather's. Hope you like it.” He said as he took Armin's hand and slipped the band on his ring finger. 

“Its nice.” Armin said, looking at the ring, which sat a little too loosely on his fourth finger. He slipped it on his middle finger instead.

“There, perfect. We’ll have to get it sized later.” The brunette gave him a fake smile. 

There was silence between them, Armin looking at the finger on his hand, before looking up at Eren. “I’ll never take your love away from Levi.” he said firmly. “I’ll never ask you to be parted from him. I hope that if I ever find someone to love me back, you can do the same.”

“Yes, I will.”

“I won’t be your lover, but I’ll be your friend, your ally, your wingman, and whatever else you need me to be. I’m always on your team, from this day forward.” 

Eren stood, grabbing Armin's hand in his own.

“And I’m on yours.”

Thise was silence and they shared a smile. 

“I think we just recited our wedding vows.” Armin snorted.

“Yeah, I really liked them.” Eren replied with a grin. He reached over to the side of the bed and picked up a white controller. “And now, Diablo 3?”

\--

 

The door to the room creaked. It was still night, the curtains were pulled over the window, making the room completely dark. The footsteps in the room were almost quiet enough to not be heard. Almost.

Armin heard them immediately, slipping his hand under Eren’s pillow, hoping to get lucky. he pulled out a long knife, glad he wasn’t the only one who hid weapons under his pillow. 

He balanced the knife on his middle finger, and then raised it over his head, releasing it with the usual throw of his shoulder. 

Pain shot up his arm and all the way down his side and he let out a groan, remembering his gunshot wounds all too late. he heard the dagger cut across the room, fall short of the target and scuffle across the wooden floor. 

“Aah..” Armin whimpered, holding his shoulder.

The bedside light clicked on, the lamp chain in Levi’s hand. “Did you just throw a knife at me in the pitch dark?” He whispered.

“Yeah, I forgot that I was injured. Good thing, or else I would have skewered you to the wall. Why are you sneaking around in here? Knock first!” He said crankily as he held his pained shoulder.

Eren stirred, looking up to see Levi. “Oh, hey Levi. What are you doing hise?” He asked sleepily.

“Just checking in.”

“If you’re coming to see if we’re making out or something, we’re not.” Armin said, crawling back down underneath the sheets by Eren. After many hours of playing Diablo 3, Eren had pulled out a long tee shirt for him to wear and they had crawled into bed together.

“Why would I care about that? Aren’t you two engaged now?” 

“In name only.” Armin said, rolling away from the lamp light.

Eren and Levi conversed in quiet German, and Eren seemed to be explaining what had happened over the course of the evening. Armin’s story, their vows of friendship, and of course, the only thing he said in english, “he likes Erwin.”

Armin responded only with a middle finger, making Eren elbow him in the ribs and chuckle.

“Can we turn the light off now?” Armin asked after a bit. “Levi, either get in bed or go away.”

The light clicked off, and Armin heard the slick of a garmet being taken off, and felt Levi slipping into bed next to Eren. They talked quietly in German, then heard them kissing softly and gently touching each other's bodies. It wasn’t long before he heard Levi get up again, pick up his shirt, and heard the door squeak shut as he left.

Eren rolled over once he had left, smelling faintly of Levi’s expensive calogne.

“Thank you.” He whispered, kissing Armin softly on the cheek.


	7. Meet The Petrovs

The Russian Mafia in Sentinel was everything you'd believe it to be. Thick, built men, with large guns, dark eyes, dirty hands and zero conscience. Run by the aging Mr. Petrov, the Petrovs were the most silent of the groups in Sentinel, but by no means the smallest, which made them all the more mysterious and threatening. 

“Thise’s a call for you, Mr. Petrov.” The intercom crackled with the secretary's announcement. 

“Thank you, I’ll take it on line one.” The husky Russian voice responded.

“Pretrov.” The man answered the telephone call.

“Our plans seems to be unfolding flawlessly, Mr. Petrov, have you noticed?” The voice on the other end of the line said.

“Heiwajima.”  Petrov recognized the voice immediately. "I saw your children make quite a ruckus on the TV the other week."

“Yes, its true." The man responded. "Although its been unreported, We have one of the twins in the company of the Yaegers, and one in the company or the Bodts. This is even better than I myself could have orchestrated. The pieces are falling into perfect place on the chess board and all we have to do is sit back and wait for the right moment to play our cards.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Heiwajima. So much depends on chance. In an instant, all of this could fall through, with one wrong move.”

“You’re wrong Petrov. On the contrary. I know the twins better than anyone else. We have the same mind. I know exactly what they would do at any moment, and that is why, although it seems like it is based on chance, it is actually foolproof. Before the year ends, you will be in complete control of all of Sentinels resources. I’ll get my payout, and we’ll all go home happy. Count on it.”

“We’ll see, Heiwajima. I’m counting on you.”

“Your trust will not be misplaced, Petrov. Trust me.”  
\--

Eren's bedroom door burst open again the next morning, a single knock first. 

Eren and Armin both rolled over to see Levi at the door, Erwin directly behind him. 

“Whaaaaaaat.” Eren whined.

“That doesn’t count as knocking.” Armin added, popping up from behind Eren, his blonde hair disheveled around his shoulders, falling across the long brown tee-shirt Eren had lended him. 

Erwin’s train of thought derailed seeing them in bed together . He had been expecting it, sort of, but seeing Armin with his bedhed, sleepy eyed and wearing an oversized tee shirt made his brain short circut a little. He was so perfect. He hadn't noticed it before. But all of the sudden, he realized it. 

He opened his mouth to say something as he looked at the perfect blonde in bed, but no words came out. 

Levi looked back at Erwin, who was trying to formulate a sentence, then looked back at Eren and Armin. 

“Its time to get up.” Levi said. “Something’s happened to your brother, Armin.”


	8. Marco

Jean hated the Bodts. They way they only spoke in Italian to one another, how they were always in some sort of meeting. How loud the house was, how they smothered all their food in cheese. 

He hated the Don, and his absolute presence that made people tremble. 

He hated the group members, who buzzed around the mansion non-stop, always ready and willing for any order that came from their boss. 

Most of all though, he hated Marco. The beautiful, impetuous, unwaveringly self-centered son of Don Bodt, whom he now belonged to.

They had inserted a tracking chip in the back of his neck the first day, and he had tried to run off multiple times since then, but someone had always been right on top of him. 

The first two days Jean just followed Marco around, going with him to meetings, carrying his briefcase like a young, modelesque butler. It wasn't until the third night that things took a turn.

Jean got into his small guest bedroom, stripped off his black jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt, letting it fall to the ground. His belt came off next, then his pants and boxers dropped to the floor as he prepared to take a shower. He suddenly felt hands on his back, and it made Jean freeze, reaching mindlessly for his gun on the night-side table. 

“No, Jean.” The voice whispered, a hand reaching out, grabbing Jean’s outstretched arm and twisting it behind him, not hurting him, simply to demonstrate he was in control. 

“Marco?”

“Mmm.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I walked, Jean,” The voice said teasingly, Jean’s French name floating off Marco’s tongue sensually. Jean heard everything. Every whisper, every breath. He was never caught off guard. But Marco had somehow been impossibly silent. 

Jean didn’t turn, but felt Marco release his one hand in order to run both of his hands over the enormous Dragon tattoo that covered Jean’s back, his butt, down to nearly the tops of his thighs. It was colorful, with the dragon spiraling and looping around his body, then snarling, face forward. The entire being was surrounded in traditional sakura flowers, as well as a a short length of Japenese characters.

“What does it mean?” Marco asked, tracing the dragon's winding body with his thumb sensually. Jean was somehow frozen, feeling his hands on him. 

“Hmm?”

“Yakuza tattoos, they have hidden meanings, don’t they?”

“Yes, ah, it's a fable. The koi fish that can swim up the waterfall becomes a dragon.”

“So its a story about arrogance, since its impossible for anyone to swim up a waterfall?” Marco asked, his hands slipping around Jean’s glutes and rubbing over his tight naked butt. 

Jean instinctively twitched, pulling away, but Marco grabbed his hips, pulling him back towards him, wrapping one arm around Jean’s waist while fondling one exposed butt cheek, squeezing it softly. 

“Tell me what it means, Jean.”

“It could be interpreted as arrogance.” Jean shuddered, twisting in Marco’s tight grasp as he continued to feel around Jean’s butt cheeks, then suggestively slipped his fingers in the cleft between them. “Ah, I think of it as a story of persistence. Even though the koi fish knew that the way up would be long and hard, he pushed through. And became a dragon. How he’s strong, and fierce, and can take care of himself, and all the other people he cares about.” 

“That's a good story, Jean, I like it.” Marco whispered in his ear, pinning his naked body against himself. He ran his hands down his fine, toned hip, then around his front, and felt his abs with both hands, pressing his lower body into Jean’s butt. Jean was strong, but Marco could win a strength contest based on mass alone, his extra height and longer reach, broader chest and shoulders. 

He nibbled behind Jean’s ear, suckling small kiss marks down his neck while running his hands down his v-lines sensually. 

“You’re the dragon, aren’t you, Jean?” He whispered, licking around the shell of his ear. 

“Mmm, yes.” The words escaped Jean’s mouth with a waver he hated, while Marco’s soft hands explored his body.

“I like that. I love your strength, Jean.” He whispered in his other ear, making Jean tip his neck to the other side, exposing his left side for bites and hickies. 

Jean bit into his lower lip. He wouldn’t make any noise. Not for this man. Never. He squirmed against him, but Marco held him tight, suckling down his neck, then running his tongue along his firm shoulder. He finally let go, after exploring all of Jean’s body that he could reach, neglecting his cock, which was shamefully hard. Jean broke away from him, wiping the saliva off his neck and shoulder, without turning to look at him.

He didn’t say anything else, just left and shut the door. 

He hated Marco. He hated that he touched him without asking, just like all those other men, all those other times. He hated the way he smelled like warmth and spice, and hated how large his hands had been against his body. He hated the way his accent sounded when he whispered, and the way his lips had felt against his skin. His chin trembled as he crawled into bed, still naked and hard. He hated everything. 

\--

There was a new face at breakfast the next morning, who looked like a foreigner among all the rest of the dark featured Italians.

He had golden hair and crystal blue eyes, and was sporting an 80s porn star mustache. He was even taller and broader then Marco, he had to stand at least 6' 5". 

“Jean Kirschtein-Heiwajima.” The man said with a smile when he caught Jean’s eye across the table. 

“Yes?” The man looked slightly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where from.

The man stood from his seat and moved around the table to sit in an empty chair next to Jean. Marco sat on the other side, but was deep in a conversation with the man next to him. 

“What are you doing here?” The blonde asked, sitting beside him. He and Jean were dressed similarly, the blonde in a navy button down and white pants, Jean in a grey suit with a navy shirt. Marco was wearing black pants and a white button up, his jacket thrown over the back of his chair. 

“Who are you?” Jean asked, tipping his head to the side. 

“My name is Mike Zacharias. Do you not remember me?”

“Have we met?”

Mike smiled softly. “Yes, I was good friends with Nile. I taught you and Armin many things with guns and fighting tactics a few years ago.”

His face flashed in Jeans mind and he felt idiotic for forgetting him. “Right, god, I’m sorry. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.” 

“I saw you on TV. It looks like you remembered the important things. Your fight at the auction and escape were amazing.” 

“Well, I didn’t fight well enough, or I wouldn’t be here.” He said softly, then bit his lip, not sure if he should have said that. 

“Is everything alright?” The blonde asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Jean didn’t say anything, but changed the subject. “Have you seen Nile?”

Mike shook his head disappointedly. “We just got back from the mainland, a colleague and I spent some time searching for him.”

“Right.”

“I’m sure he’s alive. People in your family are notoriously hard to kill. Your dad, your brother, he’s fine somewhere, and I know once he finds out you guys are back in town, he’ll return.”

Jean nodded, looking over his shoulder and noticing it had gotten quieter, Marco’s conversation wrapping up. 

“Let me know if you ever need anything, okay? I’ll be around.” The blonde said, standing from the table and grabbing his jacket, giving one last glance at the two at the table before leaving. 

\--

Marco continued his advances on Jean. Jean constantly pulled away, trying to make space between he and Marco, to the extent that one whole day he spent hiding in a closet, and another he convinced the kitchen worker to take him to the grocery store with her to help. 

“You seem to constantly be misplacing your new toy, Marco.” The Don commented in a meeting one afternoon.

“Yes Father.” Marco replied with a frown. “I don’t think he likes me touching him very much.”

“Maybe you just need to break him in the hard way. He’s just like a wild horse that needs to be taught who he belongs to.”

Marco knitted his eyebrows together. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

Don Bodt stood from his desk, pressing his fingertips against it and staring at the dark skinned boy standing in front of it. “Excuse me?”

“I just don’t think he likes being touched by me. He’s not interested in having me as a partner in bed. Maybe he should just be an underling or something. We can bring him into the group as a hired gun, he’s good with one.”

The Don pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Marco.” He sighed. 

“I just don’t--” The Don held up his hand, cutting off Marco’s speech.

“Marco, don’t disappoint me. After I brought you into my home and made you my son. You’ll be Don once I pass. You need to learn how to demonstrate absolute authority and demand absolute submission. Especially from people and things that need to be put in line.”

“Father--” Marco tried again.

I don’t care what that bastard wants! If you want something from him, then you take it. You’re in charge.”

“But--” The back of the Don’s rough, large hand hit Marco full across the cheek with a loud smack. 

“No more excuses. Are you a Bodt, or aren’t you? Go show your toy who his owner is.”

“Yes, father.” Marco answered, his cheek throbbing red from the backhand slap.

“That's a good boy, Marco.” The Don said, sitting back down at his desk.


	9. Trauma

It was midnight when Jean sneaked in his room. He had successfully gone since breakfast without seeing Marco. Last time he had seen him, Marco has assaulted him in the hallway, biting his neck and unbuttoning his shirt, pinching his nipples. Jean had broken out of the hold with an easy push and stormed away, leaving Marco smirking in the hallway. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon helping harvest apples in the orchard. It was scorching hot, and his shirtless body gained a nice tan from the summer sun, the orchard help also enjoyed the nice view he provided: his amazing physique and exquisite tattoo. 

After a quick shower, washing the dirt and sweat off of himself, he climbed into bed. It was much too late when he realized someone was already in it. Marco was waiting for him, completely silent and still. Once Jean was in bed, Marco grabbed him, wrestling the surprised man face down into the pillow. His curly, chestnut hair was damp, and he as only in his tight athletic boxers as well, as if he had just been through the same shower routine as Jean. 

“Shhh, shh.” Marco whispered as he pinned him down, one hand pushing the side of Jean’s head into the pillows, not smothering him, but putting his neck at an uncomfortable, unmovable angle while his other large hand gripped his wrists behind his back. 

Marco crawled up, straddling Jean’s hips with his body and holding him down with his weight. 

“You really should be more observant, Jean.” He leaned forward, whispering in his ear. “First you let me sneak into your room while you’re naked, and now you can’t even tell someone other than yourself is in your bed?” He shook his head.

Taking his hand off Jean’s head, he quickly grabbed a length of rope he had left on the edge of the bed, binding Jean’s wrists together with it. 

He let go of Jean’s bound wrists, letting them lay on the middle of his back, running his large hands over Jean’s shoulders and back, continuing to sit on his hips. Jean struggled as much as he could against the weight pinning him down and the bonds on his wrists.

“Get off me!” He grated. 

“Why do you struggle, Jean? Give into me. I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

The words raised bile in his throat and he wanted to vomit. He had heard that same phrase before in situation so similar to this. He didn’t freeze this time though. 

“Fucking get off, you perv!” He yelled, twisting his hips, managing to throw Marco a little to the side. Jean slipped out from under him, squiggling like a snake with his hands tied behind his back, aiming to escape off the edge of the bed. He had almost wormed his way to the edge of the mattress when Marco lazily grabbed his leg and yanked him back into the middle of the large, king sized sleigh bed.

“So adorable, Jean, I like it when you fight. That’s my favorite thing about you so far.” He grabbed Jean, and sitting up, he yanked the bound man into his lap. One hand grasped the rope around his wrists, and with the other hand, he gently caressed Jean’s shaggy hair, while he whispered in his ear. “I’m going to make you mine now, whether you fight or not.” 

Jean’s body went rigid again, as he thought about the terrible memories that brought back. Without thinking, he threw his elbows back into Marco’s stomach. It hardly did anything, with them tied the way they were, but Marco allowed him to wiggle off again, so that he could grab him by the stomach again, this time peeling off his boxers, leaving him completely naked in his lap. 

“Don’t struggle now, okay?” He whispered in his ear, nibbling on the earlobe. “It will only make this part hurt.” 

He took Jean’s hands and adjusted the binding a little so he could loop the rope around the bedframe, hands above his head, holding Jean fast. He pressed Jean’s legs up over his shoulders, grabbing his pert buttocks in his hands, and spreading his cheeks, Marco nestled his face in between them. Jean dug his teeth into his lower lip as he felt Marco’s warm tongue lap across his hole. It was a feeling he had never experienced before.

Marco licked and twirled his tongue around the small pucker, sucking at it like he was kissing it, making Jean’s eyes roll back in his head. He dug his teeth into his lip deeper. He wouldn’t cry out. Not in pain, but especially not in pleasure. 

He felt Marco’s tongue fluttering back and forth at the entrance, and Jean felt blood trickling down his chin as he bit through his lip, holding in moans. Marco’s talented tongue suddenly burst through the tight ring of muscle, entering him, and he came, suddenly and painfully, all over his own chest with only a small groan, his whole body shuttering. 

“Aah, Jean, you don’t have to pretend you don’t like it. Look at how your body is responding.” Marco said, his fingers touching the cum on Jean’s chest, lifting some to his own mouth. The moonlight shone in the window, reflecting off of their two naked bodies, and the cum’s shimmer on Jean’s chest. Jean watched Marco lick his cum off his own fingers, and an unfamiliar growl of hunger came from Jean’s throat. 

Leaving his fingers in his mouth, Marco sucked, keeping eye contact with Jean, whose breath was quickened in a mix of arousal and fear. He pulled one finger out of his mouth slowly, then move down to Jean’s hole again. 

“Good boy. You’re being so good, Jean.” He purred, gently swirling one finger around teasingly, then gently inserting it. Jean’s hips bucked at the pressure, and Marco chuckled. “Do you want more Jean?” The question went unanswered, but Marco sank down onto Jean’s cock, wrapping his warm mouth around it, while he continued to slide in and out of his tight hole with one finger. Jean’s mouth opened in a soundless scream, his hands wrapping closed, fingernails digging into his own palms as he tugged against the shackles, his eyes rolling back in his head as Marco’s soft lips slowly moved up and down his cock. He had never felt pleasure like this before. He wanted to hate it. Then it got worse. 

Marco’s fingers brushed up against a sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside him Jean didn’t even know existed. 

“Aaah!” Jean moaned out, thrusting his hips up and his dick deep into Marco’s throat, urging him on. 

Marco pulled off Jean’s cock, and Jean heard a bottle open, and felt warm liquid dribble between his legs, before two of Marco’s fingers slid back inside him, joined by his mouth around his cock, probing and sliding, sucking and licking. Jean bit his bloody lip again, his the blood dripping down his chin onto his chest, while he tried as hard as he could to fight the feeling of pleasure.

Marco curled his fingers, stroking the sensitive bundle, while he feathered Jean’s tip with his tongue. “Aah, gaah!” Jean couldn’t hold it in anymore, sparks firing behind his eyes as he came again, this time down Marco’s throat. Marco drank down as much as he could, the rest seeping out of the corners of his mouth and dripping down his chin back onto Jean’s thighs.

“You taste so sweet, Jean.” Marco whispered, brushing the escaping cum off the side of his mouth and licking it off of his thumb, then leaning back in to suck the leftover cum off the tip. “Your body is amazing.”

“Aah, Mmm!” Jean whimpered, as Marco tongued his cock, he pulled against the ropes, his thighs trembling, as Marco relentlessly thrust his fingers into him, tears gathering in the corners of Jean’s eyes. 

“Please, stop.” He said, quietly first, then again. “I don’t want this.”

“Shh, Jean.” Marco whispered, crawling up closer to him. “You look so beautiful like this.” He wiped a tear away from his eye, the stroked his shaggy hair as he rubbed his prostrate slowly with his long fingers, drawing out a long moan. “It’s like you’ve never had someone play with your ass and cock before. You love it so much.” He said, moving his hand away from Jeans hair down to his cock again, drawing slow, lazy circles around the red tip, wet with new precum and Marco’s saliva, while he watched Jean tremble underneath him.  
He leaned forward, licking a tear off Jean’s cheek, before moving to his lips, licking the blood off his chin and latching his teeth onto Jean’s bottom lip as he thrust a third finger in, massaging Jean’s prostate with slow, long thrusts. Jean couldn’t hold back the moans anymore, they came naturally, muffled by Marco’s mouth, as he kissed and sucked on Jean’s lips gently, drawing his tongue into his mouth and tangling his tongue with Jean’s.

Jean’s eyes slid closed, feeling Marco’s hands pleasuring him gently, his tongue lapping against his own made his heart beat up in his throat. He had never been kissed like this before. He didn’t want to like it. But he didn’t want it to stop. Marco’s tongue slowly dragged over his bottom lip, tasting him, while he tasted like a mix of salty and sweet, Jean’s tongue exploring the outside of Marco’s mouth, tasting his own cum on his lips. 

“Marco.” The gasp of pleasure came out of Jean’s mouth involuntarily, so quiet he wasn’t even sure the other heard. 

“Mm, Jean, hai un sapore fantastico.” He breathed in his mother tongue. “You taste amazing. All of you. Your skin, your mouth, your cum, your tears, your blood. I want to eat you all up.” Marco whispered with a nibble at Jean’s hairline, the hand on Jean’s tip moving to stroke all the way down his full length, the other still deep inside, stroking his prostate.  
“Can you come again for me, Jean?” Marco asked, nibbling on the shell of his ear.

Jean’s body convulsed as he came again, nearly dry this time, letting out a pained whimper. 

“Cosi buono, you’re so good for me. So, so beautiful, Jean.” He whispered, gently stroking his face. ”I think you’re ready to take me in now.” He said, slipping his fingers out of him, and Jean’s whole body went rigid with shock, completely different from how relaxed he had been just moments before. 

“No, no. Stop.” He whispered. 

“But you liked what I did just now, didn’t you Jean? Why are you afraid? Is this your first time? I promise I won’t hurt you.” Marco said, gently.

Jean wasn’t listening, as he twisted against the ropes, them burning against his skin, bile rising in his throat and panic flowing through him in a fight or flight reflex.

“Fucking let me go!” He yelled, finally scratching the rope hard enough that it snapped, and he untangled himself, leaping out of bed and running out of the room. 

Marco blinked. “What the fuck?” He whispered, then got up to follow Jean. He was in the hallway, pulling his underwear back on. When he looked over his shoulder and saw Marco, his eyes got enormous and wide with panic, and he scrambled down the hallway away from him. 

Marco chased after him, as quietly as possible. He hoped the could both be silent and not make a scene and wake anyone.

Jean was running, and Marco ran after him. He figured that Jean was going towards the front door, like an animal who was running from what they were afraid of, so he took a different hallway in the large house, they wound up colliding right at the top of the double staircase before the front door. Their legs tangled and they went down together.

As quick as a snake, Jean was untangled, crawling backward from Marco. He looked completely different than he had moments before, his eyes half lidded in pleasure, now he looked like a panicked animal who was about to get hunted.

“Stay away.” He breathed, quietly.

“Jean, come with me. We don’t want to wake anyone up.” Marco said, reaching for Jean’s arm. Jean quickly slapped Marco’s hand away, jumping up. 

“Don’t touch me.”

Jean flew down the stairs towards the front door, Marco following him, grabbing his waist, and both of them collapsing onto a thick shag rug at the base of the stairs. 

Jean’s breath came in short, quick gasps. Marco grabbed him by both wrists, trying to pin him down again, but Jean fought back. He headbutted him first, followed by a knee to the stomach and an elbow to the throat. He jumped off the rug to run towards the front door, but Marco reached out and grabbed his ankle, Jean’s body slapping to the ground on the semi-precious stonework. 

Marco got up, holding his throat and coughing as quietly as possible, as Jean scrambled off of the floor and over to one of the doors off the main hall. He threw it open, not knowing where it went. It was a large, spare study. He padded across the carpet, running from Marco, who stalked behind him.

“Stop running, Jean. Just calm down.” 

“Stay away from me!” He said a little louder. He was rummaging through the desk looking for a weapon, when Marco rounded the corner of the desk and caught him around the knees, taking him to the ground again. 

Jean had a letter opener in his hand, which he stabbed into Marco’s bicep. It went deep, and the pain radiated immediately from the dull ended, gold plated sword replica dug into his arm nearly to the hilt. It wasn’t anything too serious, given the size of the blade, but it did the worst thing possible, made Marco angry. His face clouded over, and he backhanded Jean right across the face, knocking him to the floor, as the blood flowed down his strong arm in several streams. 

Jean was holding his cheek, which made Marco realize he had hit his cheekbone directly with the thick gold signant ring on his middle finger. Jean turned, crawling away, Marco standing and slowly following him. He crawled to the edge of the carpet, then turned, something heavy and metallic in his hand. Jean had found a gun on the floor. He held it in his hands steadily, pointing it at the other man. He pulled the trigger pointed straight at Marco’s head.

Click. 

Click click click.

Then he dropped it to the floor with a clank.

It was empty, but he had just tried to shoot Marco in the head four times. 

Marco looked at Jean, who was trembling, wide eyed. He grabbed him by the foot, dragging him back over to the desk while Jean clawed at the carpet and screamed.

“You picked a good room. This one is soundproof.” Marco growled, as he grabbed Jean by the hair, yanking him up and bending him over the desk. It was like, somehow, within the last five minutes, both of thier personalities had completely shifed into something different and terrible.

“I didn’t want to do this. I’m not usually this kind of guy, really I’m not. But now I’m just really, really fucking mad, being that you tried to kill me five times.”

“Please dont, please, stop. Stop, let me go. Don’t. Please stop. Let me go, please, I’m sorry, please stop.”

The pleading went on, while Marco yanked his boxers down, then Jean’s, spreading his legs. Jean tried to press his knees back together, fighting in every way he could. “Please don’t, stop. I don’t want this. I’m sorry. Please don’t. Let me go. I’ll be good. I’m sorry. Stop, please.”

The pleading was on repeat, like a dialogue that couldn’t be turned off as Marco pushed into him, luckily he was still a little wet from being prepared earlier, but that didn’t stop his pained screaming and his crying out, begging the larger man to stop.

“Fucking, shut up Jean, just take it, you wanted this 5 minutes ago.” He growled, grabbing Jean’s hair and slamming his head down on the desk, holding it there with one hand. He hated what he was doing, and the sound of his own voice, especially hearing it over the sound of Jean’s pleading. Jean’s hand was reaching back trying to yank out Marco’s hair and stab his eyes, while he took him, doing anything he could to get free.

“Jesus, Jean, just, stop!” His anger was at a breaking point when Jean gave him a large, bloody scratch right down the side of his cheek. With a growl, he yanked the letter opener out of his shoulder, slammed Jean’s hand on the desk, and stabbed the bloodied letter opener through Jean's hand, pinning it to the wooden desk, a messy red pool escaping though underneath his hand. 

“Just fucking relax, okay?” 

The pleading stopped. And the moving, and everything, except the blood, and a whisper of a breath taken every few seconds.

Marco didn’t even cum, a lump of guilt caught in this throat that made him feel sick. His father would be proud of him, he thought bitterly. He pulled out, his limp cock falling back between his legs. He pulled his underwear up, then gently pulled the knife out of Jean’s hand. 

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. That was fucked up. I shouldn’t have done that.” He whispered, dropping the bloody letter opener in the trash. “Come on, Lets go to bed.”

The body on the desk didn’t move.

“Jean?” Marco whispered. 

He turned the body over on the desk. If he hadn’t softly, slowly breathing, Marco would have supposed him to be dead. His green eyes were half open, but glazed over and unresponsive.

“Jean?” Marco shook his body. “Jean!”

No one answered.


	10. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was pretty heavy. Yikes. Thanks for coming back.

Jean was lying in the hospital bed, wearing black sweatpants, covered half up with the sheets, his bare chest exposed. He looked like he could just be asleep, except for the IV going to his arm, and the fact that he was indeed, in a hospital.

Marco stood near the bed, Mike, the enormous mustached foreigner standing on one side of him, and Marco's dark haired Italian bodyguard, Dimirti, standing on the other.

"What happened to him?" Marco asked, trying not to look nervous, his hands clasping and unclasping behind his back and his eyebrows furrowed. 

“This dosen’t happen often, but sometimes when someone experiences severe trauma, such as being the victim of a violent rape or witnessing a grisley murder, or the like, if they get in a situation where the same thing is happening, they’ll sort of...cocoon up, in a way. Go inside to their safe space, if you will. They'll retreat into themselves, to be safe.” The kind doctor explained. She was a younger woman, dark chestnut hair pulled back in a tight brown ponytail that swung around cheerfully. She wore a white lab coat and held a clipboard in her hand. 

“A traumatic experience.” Marco said numbly, balling his hands into fists and shoving them in the pockets of his grey suit jacket. He felt sick. 

The doctor hummed. “Do you know if he--" 

"Jean." Marco interjected. "His name is Jean." 

"Yes. Well then." The doctor smiled kindly. " Do you know if Jean has experienced any large traumas in his past? Something that would have been reminiscent of whatever brought about this episode?”

Marco slowly shook his head. "I--" He realized he didn't know much about Jean. Only what had been passed along from his father, which was mostly rumors and bad news. He hardly knew anything about him at all. 

“Yes.” Mike interjected. “I do. I have know the Hiewajimas since they were young.” 

Marco's brows furrowed as he looked at the tall, mustached man. How was it that he didn't know that? Perhaps because he had never asked. 

“Well?” The doctor asked, pulling a pen from behind her ear and looking at Mike expectantly. 

Mike looked at Marco. “You may want to leave for this.”

The man shook his curly head. “I’ll stay.” He replied. 

Mike turned back to the doctor with a sigh. “When the twins were young..." He started, then stopped and began again. "Jean was gang raped by a number of men in his own home when he was about 16. I’m not sure how he didn’t die, to be honest, it's that iron-strong Hiewajima will that family clings to. That wasn’t the only time he was assaulted, but I believe that is the trauma that scarred him the deepest. He has an aversion to being touched.”

Marco widened his stance to avoid falling over from his sudden rush of nausea.  

"Yes," The doctor murmerred, "That could do it, all things considered." She said, scribbling on her clipboard. There was a long awkward silence, while a mix of shock, guilt and absolute nausea washed over Marco. 

"You mentioned twins?" The doctor asked, looking up from her clipboard for a moment. 

"Yes, there's a brother." Mike responded. 

“Would you say that his twin brother is the person he is the closest to?” The doctor asked, scribbling again. “And do you know how to get ahold of this man?”

Mike nodded in response to both questions. 

“I’d like him here now, if that’s possible.”

\--

The door to the hospital room flew open. The small blonde wasn't even all the way in the door before the small blade flew from his right hand in a flash, tearing through the air and slicing through flesh on Marco's right cheek in on obvious warning shot before continuing its path across the room and embedding itself in the opposite wall. The blood from Marco's face splashed across his Italian bodyguard beside him, dripping down the man's face, ear, and neck. 

Armin crossed the room at an alarming rate of speed, Marco's two escorts drawing their weapons. 

"Armin!" Was yelled by someone, somewhere, but the blonde couldn't hear anything. Only his heart pumping in his ears, the blood flowing through his veins, and the heat as the adrenaline and white hot anger carried him. 

The dark haired Italian body guard readied his weapon, aiming it at Armin, who closed the distance between them instantaniously. The blonde reached out, and as easily as tying his shoes, he grabbed the gun and the man's wrist, twisted the weapon from the bodyguard's hands and took it between his own palms. 

He pointed the gun at the man's head, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger. 

The Italian man's blood splattered across the room, and his body dropped to the ground like an oversized sack of potatoes. 

He turned the gun on Marco next, but before he could pull the trigger he was grabbed by the scruff of the neck like a cat, his arm twisted behind his back until the gun fell to the floor.

"Not a good time, Armin." The voice said, as the large hands released him. Armin recognized the voice immediately. 

“Mike Zacharias?” he asked, surprised, turning around to see the enormous man move away from him and take his place by the handsome, olive skinned Italian. "What the hell are you doing here?"

“Hello Armin.” He said with a small smile. 

“I guess I have you to thank for being called today.” 

He inclined his head in a nod but didn’t talk after that. The small blonde looked between the blonde man whom he remembered from his childhood, over to the dark haired Italian, whom he hated more than anyone on the face of the planet. He would take care of him later. 

Armin exchanged a few words with the young doctor, and then moved to Jean’s bed, sitting closely beside his unmoving body. He leaned into him, resting his hands against his twin's chest, and began singing a sweet, French tune quietly, barely loud enough for anyone besides him to hear. 

Levi smiled and hummed a few bars, and Eren leaned over to him. "Do you know this song?"

Levi responded with a smile and a nod. 

"What's it about?"

"It's a child's lullaby. It doesn't make much sense. It's about going away, a long journey, but to come back again, or else you'll be missed." 

Eren nodded. "It's a beautiful tune."

Armin continued singing, lifting Jean's fingers to his lips he laid a soft kiss on them. When Armin had finally finished the song, he leaned forward, whispering softly in Jean's ear, kissing him on the cheek. 

"Je ne peux pas continuer sans toi." Armin whispered, squeezing Jean's hand. He whispered it again, laying his head down on Jean's bare chest. 

There was a large gasp, and Jean shot up in bed. With a violent thrust, he shoved Armin off of him. The petite blonde was thrown backwards, over the edge of his bed, and would have landed on the floor hard, had Erwin not been expecting the situation and been there to cushion his fall. He crashed into the bulky doctor's midsection somehow with enough force to bowl them both over into a large blonde heap on the hospital floor. 

Eren watched the strangely comical situation, then looked over at Levi. "Just now, What did he say?" 

Levi smiled. "Armin? He told him, 'I can't go on without you.'"

“Aaw fuck..." Armin whimpered from his spot on the floor, biting into the blonde doctor's thick shoulder as pain racked his whole body. He wrapped his arm around his midsection, holding his broken ribs. “Be strong." Erwin cooed gently, only so Armin could hear. "We’ll fix you up later.” 

“Armin, Armin??” Jean’s voice was desperate, and Erwin helped the small blonde up from the floor, gingerly placing him onto the side of the bed. 

“Hey handsome. You look just about as good as I feel.” Armin groaned, adjusting himself carefully on the bed so he could sit cross legged. “If you didn’t want to share a bed with me anymore you could just say so.” he teased. 

“Aah, oh my God, Armin you’re alive!” Jean yelled, wrapping his arms around his twin. 

“Of course I am. It'd take a lot more than a 300 foot fall from a bridge and three bullet holes to kill me." He laughed huskily. "Aah, fuck, Jean, yeah, but don’t squeeze me.” He pried his brother's long arms from around his waist. 

Jean's brows furrowed, and he moved to quickly unbutton Armin's white button-down dress shirt. The buttons opened easily, and he threw it off the blonde's slim shoulders, the shirt pooling behind him on the bed. The room gaped at the enormous, colorful, snarling tiger tattoo that climbed up his back, across his upper arms and disappeared down into his jeans, no doubt rolling across his hips and down his upper thighs. The tiger was fierce and beautiful, climbing lengthwise down Armin's back, surrounded in the traditional sakura flowers, a length of japenese characters across his left bicep. It was strange to see the large tattoo on someone who still looked so young and innocent in a way. But by the body on the floor and the brains on the wall, everyone in the room knew that surely wasn't the case.

Jean looked over his brother's wounds, the large ugly red bruise on his right shoulder, the bruise climbing up his neck, and the bruise cascading down his side and hip. “Oh my God, Armin.” Jean whispered, running his hands around his waist, then gently putting his forehead against his. "We'll hop a taxi next time, yeah?"

"Or maybe I'll drive. If you weren't such a grandma driver I'm sure we would have outrun those bastards." 

Jean snorted. 

The twins whispered a little in French, Armin, pointing to people in the room. From the names and French words Eren recognized, he could tell that he was telling him the story of how he got there. Armin held up his hand, showing his ring to Jean. 

"It sounds like a lot has happened in the few days we've been apart, brother." Jean said, gently running his fingers through Armin's soft blonde ponytail.

"Yes. One of us has been getting on a lot better then the other though." Armin said, frowning, referring to Jean's hospital stay.

"Says the one with three bullet holes in him." Jean gave him a fake smile, and Armin returned it with a soft, knowing half smile. There it was. The strength. That iron will. How they held on. How they had pushed through. They could make it through anything, as long as they had each other to lean on. 

Armin reached up from where his hands were on his twin’s chest, and gently touched his chin, turning his cheek. There were bruises on both sides, one spidering across his cheekbone from an obvious backhanded slap, with a ring or while holding a large object, the other was a little less widespread, from being slammed into something. he also took hold of his hand, which was wrapped across the middle in gauze, and kissed it. 

“Did he do this, brother?" Armin whispered, looking across the room and leveling his chin, making eye contact with Marco that lasted an uncomfortable amout of time. 

“I need to talk to you alone.” Came Jean's quiet reply.

Armin looked around. “If everyone could please step outside for awhile that would be great. I need to talk to my twin alone.”

There wasn't much reaction to Armin's request, until it was followed up by a demaning "NOW!"

Everyone except the doctor shuffled out, and Armin snuggled in closer to Jean. 

“Talk to me.” he said, running his hand over his twin's bruised face gently. 

“We should leave. Leave now, like we wanted to. Just run away from Sentinel. To France, to somewhere, off this island where we’re trapped.” The taller man said, his green eyes glistening like they were seconds away from tears. 

“We will Jean, in the future. But--I can’t... right now.” Armin replied quietly.

“What? Why?” 

“Because. The Yaeger's bought me at that auction. I belong to them. I either need to get released, or pay them 15 million for myself. I can’t belong to myself if I belong to them.”

Jean was quiet, and Armin was sure he was going to retort with some obvious remark that made total sense, but he just responded with a quiet, "I understand what you mean.” 

Armin's brow furrowed. “Tell me what happened to you, Jean. You’ve never been a runner. You’ve always faced things head on and fought. For me, for us. What happened, what locked you inside?” 

“I, after we ran away from the auction, I was in Bodt territory." Jean began. "They took me to the Don, and he said that I owed him since dad was selling in his territory."

“Fucking bastard…I'll kill him for this.” Armin murmured. 

“He gave me to his son Marco. Marco was really touchy with me, and one night...he was in my bed, and--and he did these things to me," Jean stumbled through the sentences, like he was still trying to process what had happened. "...He kissed me, and touched me….and...and...I liked it.”

There was a long pause and Jean looked away like he was ashamed before he continued. “Then he said that he was going to enter me, and I panicked, I was afraid I ran. Even though he had just made me feel good and hadn’t hurt me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get out of the house, then I hit him, and stabbed him, and tried to shoot him four times, luckily the gun was empty.” Jean ran his fingers through his hair, he was starting to breathe in short gasps. 

“Calm down Jean, its okay. I’m right here. Shh. Focus.” Armin put his hands on Jean's shoulder.

“I don’t know, just something came over me, there was nothing I could do. It was like fight or flight, on both of our ends. I tried to kill him, so he retaliated. I don’t know. I liked it.  I liked his hands on me. Him touching me. He was gentle. His hands were soft and his voice was calm. But at the same time it made me sick. It made me remember, all those...all those..”  
He gagged, like the memories actually brought back something bad enough to almost make him vomit. “It was so long ago, but it's burned into my memory. It feels so wrong to like it, I don’t know. I can’t describe it. I’m broken, Armin.” By the time he finished, tears were seeping out of his deep jade eyes. 

Armin swooped in, wrapping his arms gently around his neck. 

“Shh. Listen to me. What happened, so long ago, with those bastards, is completely different then the way a man who loves you will treat you. A man who loves you will take his time with you, touch you, kiss you, make sure you are feeling good and comfortable and safe. When you find someone like that, you’ll know.”

Armin pushed the hair out of Jean's face, wiping the tears off his bruised cheeks with his thumbs. “What happened with you and Marco was really unfortunate, a really big misunderstanding. If he’s right for you, then he’ll understand that, he’ll understand you, and this, and everything. The right man will." Armin smiled, then tagged on the end, "But I doubt the man for you will be Marco, because he'll probably be dead before I leave the room today.”

Jean managed to bark out a raspy laugh. “Is Eren the right man for you?” He inquired, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand.

“No.” Armin gave a small laugh. “He’s a good man, but not for me. He already found his other half. And you’ll find yours. Someone that will take care of you, shelter you, be there for you. Everything the opposite of our father, and everything you need. Someone to call home.”

He sank his head into his brother's small chest. “You’re strong, Armin.” 

“I'm strong because you are, Jean. You're so much stronger than me. Marco just found your one weakness first off. It was unfortunate. But now he knows your weakness, he can protect you from it, and he can learn your strengths one by one. If I don't kill him. Which I may." Armin paused as he heard Jean let out a small laugh again. "Don’t be ashamed, Jean. Don’t be afraid. If we let the things that dad did to us ruin our lives, then he wins. That bastard stole enough of our lives already. The only other thing he'll have from us is our bullets in his chest.” 

“I love you, Armin.” Jean said, after a long pause.

“I love you, Jean. Remember, we’re always together, even if we’re far apart. I’m always just a call away, too.” 

Jean nodded.

After a little while of hugging, Armin went to the hallway to let everyone back in. Erwin and Levi were conversing quietly while Eren milled around curiously, Marco talking on the phone in heated Italian while Mike stood nearby.

Everyone funneled back in, and Armin looked at Jean, and with a wink, headed over to where Marco was standing. He looked significantly smaller than the Italian man, his light skin appearing porcelain against Marco's olive tone. It was the first time he had ever actually seen Marco Bodt before, and he was surprised. He didn’t look scary, or threatening, he actually looked very cute and huggable, with the brown band of freckles across his nose and his moppy dark hair. But he knew that soon he would be the Don Bodt, and now was his time to advocate for his brother.

He grabbed one lapel of the taller man's grey jacket and opened his mouth, speaking to him in perfect Italian, partially because he didn’t want Jean to understand him, and also, just because he could.  
“Listen to my words, Marco Bodt. I don't give a flying fuck about you, or your family, or Sentinel. All I care about is Jean.” He stared him down for a moment before continuing. “He's a good man. So either treat him right or let him go. Because if you ever, EVER raise a hand to him again," He said, pausing for effect, "I will cut your body to pieces, eat your liver raw, boil your bones and use your skull as an ashtray.”

In an instant, the dark haired doctor, who had been completely silent, had a gun out of a holster in the back of her scrubs and was pointing it at Armin. The blonde took two steps toward her, batting the gun to the side as she shot, the bullet wizzing past him and embedding in the white hospital wall. He easily twisted the piece out of her hands, and in seconds, his hands moving faster than possible, he had the gun disassembled, and dropped the pieces to the floor, while he swiveled back to look at Marco. His eyes caught in Marco's stare, he let the bullets slip from his fingers, tinkling harmlessly onto the white linoleum floor. 

He stared Marco deep in the eyes. “Questa è una promessa. That's a promise, Bodt.”

Levi and Mike’s jaws were dropped at the threat, and the rest watched with baited breath at the last of the thin, gold bullets fell to the ground, and rolled around before sliding to a stop silently. 

At that, Armin turned, with an “Frere” to Jean, he disappeared out the door, followed by Eren, Erwin and Levi. 

Out in the hallway, Armin was bracing himself against the wall with one hand and holding his waist with the other. Erwin gently caught him around the shoulders and they made their way into another room.

“That was so… something.” Levi hummed.

Eren looked at Levi and then at Armin. "What did you say? I don't speak Italian." 

Levi responded with a smirk, "He said, and I quote, ""I will cut your body to pieces, eat your liver raw, boil your bones and use your skull as an ashtray."" 

“Oooooooooooooooooooh." Eren said, drawing out the 'o' for an obscenely long time.

Erwin smiled, one side of his mouth lifting up in an amused smirk. “An ashtray? Do you even smoke?” 

Armin snorted, sitting in a chair, leaning over his head between his legs. “No, but it was a pretty villanous threat, right?”

“Yeah, it was. You didn't seem afraid at all, you were very brave.” Erwin responded with a chuckle, giving the small blonde a gentle rub on the bare back. “How are your wounds feeling?” 

“Shitty.” he said with a hoarse laugh. “Oh, I fogot my shirt.” 

“Would you like to wear mine? I’m wearing two.” He asked unbuttoning his navy sports shirt, showing his undershirt underneath.

“Oh, sure.” Armin smiled as he slipped it on and sniffed his spicy scent. he looked over at Eren, who waggled his eyebrows.

“I need a drink.” Armin breathed. 

“Yeah, me too.” Levi agreed. “Lets get out of here.”


End file.
